


These Nights

by 78424325



Series: Agustrian Diaries [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: 30 day challenge, F/M, Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 20,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18117785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/78424325/pseuds/78424325
Summary: Noble lady of Leonster, frail and unimpressive; or so her peers secretly whisper behind the thick castle walls.In the range of around 500 to 700 words, the court of Nordion bears witness to the making of a graceful lioness.





	1. Lion's Den

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do an EldiGrahn ever since I saw this post. Haha, perhaps I like those themed challenges too much.
> 
> Written to try giving Grahnye justice instead of letting her forever be immortalized as the jealous bitchy wife of Eldie. Seriously, she deserves better... -sobs-
> 
> I'm not abandoning the Mistletoe series ^^;; it's just I want to have this written down before I forgot everything.
> 
> Original prompt found on --> http://30daychallengearchive.tumblr.com/post/36511456720/genimhaled-using-the-prompts-below-write-a

_01 – Beginning_

 

She blinked.

It took time for her to realize that she was no longer in Leonster—instead, this was Southern Agustria, where the lands were fertile and the breeze flew gently from the seas. The bumpy road had startled her, awakening her from the nap she graciously took because of their long ride from Leonster.

“Are you alright, milady?”

She blinked again.

A young woman seated in front of her smiled, searching something from around the comfortable carriage seat to give her. It did not take long for the young woman to find the thing she needed—a handkerchief, and she mumbled her request for permission to begin wiping her forehead.

“Is it still far?” she asked the young woman, glancing outside the carriage. Apple trees lining outside made quite a spectacular view, with the vivid red color combined with the lushness of the trees overpowered the serene impression of the ground.

“No, not really,” the young woman replied, seeming to be pleased for getting the chance to strike a conversation with her. “We can have those in Nordion once we arrive. His Lordship instructed that you are to be treated with utmost respect and the best finery we can afford. I can humbly hope that Agustrian hospitality won’t disappoint Leonster, milady.”

She gave a little smile hearing that.

It was still unbelievable to her—all these recent events. After her unexpected encounter with a dashing knight on one snowy Leonsterian night prior, she soon learned that he was, in fact, more than just dashing—he was truly someone of distinguished heritage, heir to the Nordion throne and inheritor of the famed Demon Sword Mystletainn; he who bore the major blood of Crusader Hezul in his veins.

He had graciously invited her family to attend a spring ball which came with the seasonal diplomatic events Agustria held, and by the time she exited her carriage to get used to the new surroundings, he simply smiled, offering his hand to personally take her sightseeing.

She later learned that he had always been like that.

He did not say much—yet there was this aura about him which spoke firmness and elegance at the same time, the way he carried his manners to guests and peasants alike. Chivalrous, perhaps, was the only way to describe him in general, for he remembered all his Agustrian nobles and never once his court etiquette flawed before the benevolent King Imka. The dashing knight; literal white knight in shining armor—something she never really admitted before him—for she had seen him rallying his troops in a mock-battle as they trained in the arts of warfare. The typical red, velvet coat he wore to top his white attire, in-tune with his scarf; his polished white boots. His entire bearing carried the dignity of a lord at the field, and as he returned to the court, a knight’s chivalry blended with the crowd.

He did not always laugh boisterously; he knew his finesse unlike his carefree blue-haired friend. Yet he was still a young man in his prime, whom she pictured akin to an old god enjoying scenery—with prudence, sans the fatherly mature air like her own homeland’s Crown Prince Quan of Leonster.

His letters to her were courteous the way hers to him were restrained and elegant. He had told her how beautiful the beach was, how he liked to take his horse ride on the soft sands to watch the sun setting; something he dubbed as a pleasure a simple knight was grateful for.

At that time she had written that she thought of him as more than just a simple knight, and in between ink stains of her coughing with a red face, she professed that his image never left her mind.

With another invitation, courtship followed after.

The lifeguard cavalrymen halted their horses. Magnificent castle waited on her as one of them dismounted to open the door for her, and as the sun began to set, she caught his lustrous golden mane shining by the time he walked to approach her.

“Welcome to Nordion,” he said, bowing to kiss her hand. “Lady Grahnye of Leonster—my wife.”


	2. Appraisal

_02 – Accusation_

At first, the gesture was sweet. And she knew better that the lion did not mean malice at all when he put an addendum when introducing her to the court—or rather, the entire personnel which made up the core of his court—head healer, chamberlain, lifeguard cavalry, main commanders of the cross knights—including his younger sister Lachesis and her loyal retainers, the triplets Alva, Eva, and Eve.

“May I present your mistress to you,” the lion spoke in his typical lordly manner as he assembled the court for a morning audience. “This is Lady Grahnye of Leonster. Serve her well the way you serve me.”

Each of them walked forward, pledging their loyalty to her, curtsying-bowing as they kissed her hand. Her riding companion formally introduced herself as Antonia, assigned to be her lady-in-waiting and healer.

When the lion’s sister—beautiful blond-haired girl called Lachesis—curtsied to her and kissed her cheek, she realized what the addendum was. “Eldie said you were so tired, sister,” Lachesis smiled. “Won’t hurt to let us run everything until you feel better. I’m heading for my lessons, but we can talk at tea!”

Grahnye did not smile after that. She politely shooed Antonia away, saying she wanted to be alone with the lion. Racing the well-polished corridor, she locked herself in the grand room occupied by ladies of House Nordion for generations. Her heart beat faster, and she quickly dropped her weight into the bed.

She hated it.

Half of her understood that the lion’s addendum when introducing her was meant to make the court aware of her… condition—thus being mindful of her considering he wouldn’t always be there to personally watch her. She knew she was frail. She knew more than everyone else that physically-demanding activities burdened her weak heart and easily exhausted her feeble body. Still, she resented the presentation—she was the Lionheart’s lawfully-wedded wife, yes—but if she could choose, she wouldn’t want her presentation be followed with a subtext— _this is my wife, a sickly lady._

The lion’s half-sister had the fire she lacked. Sharp-minded with fierce tongue, Lachesis received lessons in swordplay and healing. And Lachesis just suggested for them to have tea—like she was but a guest in her new home where she was the sovereign.

… Or so she thought. Her bitterness aside, she understood then—Lachesis was the lioness. Never her…

In the middle of drying her tears, she could hear voices from the lion’s private study. Some Agustrian nobleman called Elliot congratulated him with an invitation from King Imka, his words were venomous that the lion knew better than grazing back at them with his tongue. _Didn’t see you touring Agustria yet,_ Elliot frothed— _Why?_

 _Why?—_ if only she knew. The last time she ran out of breath a disgruntled Leonsterian peasant sneered because she demanded another person’s arm for crossing the rotund.

 _She can’t walk yet,_ the lion replied calmly. Impossible the astute Lionheart didn’t realize what that could imply, because Elliot shut his mouth the entire morning when he was there.

If only it was true, however—because the long journey exhausted her so much that she spent most of her first two nights in Nordion recuperating. Alone, for he did not cross the connecting door from the master bedroom he occupied to reach her. When he came at night, he fixed her blanket.

She felt insulted and powerless at the same time.

“Maybe it’s easy,” she heard murmurs. “Lord Eldigan needs an heir to pass down Mystletainn, anyway.”

Gossiping maidservants paled in fright finding her at the threshold while the lion’s study was wide open. Elliot looked surprise to find her, and before the lion could introduce them, she approached, holding her hand with dignity.

“I’m the lady of House Nordion.”

She thought the lion’s eyes glinted when Elliot had to _kneel_ to kiss her hand because of the way she held it. When the unpleasant nobleman was out from their sight, the lion walked closer to take her hand.

She kissed it like a vassal—much to his surprise.

“Grahnye?”

“Milord—I’m not easy,” she stated, closing the door at his face.


	3. Hide and Seek

_03 – Restless_

 

She asked Antonia for a pair of breeches when the lady-in-waiting dressed her that morning. The cleric had ensured that she was well enough to trace Nordion compound, bearing a letter from the Lionheart who started his day early and disciplined, befitting his reputation. “His Lordship might return from the field around ten, milady,” the cleric curtsied to her. She immediately recognized his handwriting—the distinctive curves he did when signing the letter to mark that it was indeed his. The letter was simple—an offer to ride Nordion castle town with him.

The moment Antonia was gone to fetch the breeches she wanted, she sneaked out of the room, feeling a bit guilty—she didn’t pack any from Leonster. She didn’t even recall the last time she wore them.

Nordion castle’s fortified walls suddenly felt colder than Leonsterian winter. After giving the lion cold shoulders, he didn’t contact her for the rest of the day. She expected him to feel irritated, storming back into the room, roughly voicing his displeasure to her. But Eldigan wasn’t the Lionheart without reason, and his courteousness to respect the boundary she set made her… restless.

Why did he even want her in the first place? If he only wanted an heir, she wasn’t even touched.

She spotted Lachesis. The lioness had changed into comfortable clothing with a sword in hand. When the younger woman smiled awkwardly, she vanquished it. “You seem busy, Lachesis. It’s alright—no need to make time for me for tea.”

With it, she left. Half of her felt guilty for treating Lachesis sourly like that. Half of her was envious, noticing Lachesis’ breeches, noting her energetic demeanor and skill in combat.

The knight Alva looked surprise to find her instead of the Nordion princess, but she addressed him with dignity. “Sir Alva, I’d like to see the armory.”

Needless to say, the paladin gulped. “Ah, usually it’s Lady Lachesis who...”

“I’m the Lionheart’s consort.” She hated her tone. She didn’t speak like that in Leonster, but somehow Agustria did that to her. Alva led her in, sweat-dropping when she took a sword, swinging it. “How to…”

“Please, milady…”

“I’d like to understand what burdens my husband’s shoulders,” she replied. Alva yielded, sharing the knowledge of swordsmanship with her. _Hold it like this,_ he said— _swing with the shoulder—_

She thanked Alva sweetly, but when he turned to close the door, she concealed the sword in her dress. Antonia only met a locked room when returning to inform she couldn’t find the breeches, but sure they could arrange a seamstress for her. Sounds from outside told her that the lion was back from the field because she heard the cleric saying that her bedroom was locked.

“Let her sleep,” the lion said. Again, something in her was aggravated. Something in her imagined him to tear the door, to ravish her with those sharp, narrowed leonine eyes of his, and—

Sighing, she picked up the sword, practicing what Alva taught her.

She didn’t expect sword-swinging would burn her muscles. She didn’t expect the weapon to be that heavy. Her mind lingered on Lachesis, thinking how proud the lion must be of his sister, whereas she…

She heard soft knocking on the connecting door to the master bedroom.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m yours, why asking?”

The door opened and she held her breath. The lion looked displeased; catching the sword she forgot hiding—and her collapsing body.

She woke up—to his face. He dressed down and the sword was nowhere to be found. Rinsing a damp rag, he brought it across her face—jawlines, forehead… and she turned away from him.

“You tried a silver sword.”

She didn’t respond—no wonder her feeble body gave up.

“Were you feeling unsafe?”

She blinked.

“Have I failed as a knight in protecting my wife?”

“Milord…”

“Eldie.”

She pulled her blanket higher, and he gently touched her hair.

“I’m not taking _that_ with force, Grahnye.”

He tucked her hair strands behind her shoulders. When he left the room, she picked herself, eyes fixed on the door like trying to capture the wind marking his exit.


	4. But Dear—

_04 – Snowflake_

 

Eldigan ordered breakfast in bed for her, but what she didn’t expect was that he joined her to eat. With a serene smile he asked if she missed Leonsterian breakfast, but not forcing an answer when she was silent—simply because his face was close to hers, and his voice tender. Like a good commander, the lion changed his maneuver—by asking her if there was a specific Agustrian food which captivated her fancy.

“Let me think…”

She couldn’t.

Eldigan clapped. Maidservants came into the room, cleaning everything, taking the plates back to the kitchen. She then realized the silver sword was hanging on his belt instead of leaning against her bedpost.

“Eldie?”

He halted his steps, but she only drowned her face into the pillow again, unable to utter anything.

She clutched her blanket.

“I take this to prevent you from injuring yourself, Grahnye,” he sighed. “Not to imprison you.”

She took everything to sleep, disliking how hard it was somehow to just have a heartfelt conversation with him where she could say what she truly felt.

The first thing she saw after opening the door, a fully-armored knight made a military salute at her. His presence fished a soft squeal out of her because she expected Antonia by the door to dress her. The knight bowed at an instant. “Ma’am! Assigned to you by His Lordship. My sword is yours!”

Now _she_ sighed.

When Antonia asked if she wanted to style her hair in a bun or letting it loose, she asked if the cross knight was still outside. When she got an affirmative reply, she stopped Antonia’s comb, tying her favorite red ribbon for a long, one-side braid she did herself. She then dismissed the lady-in-waiting.

The knight followed her around the castle as she went on with her day—when she checked papers bearing household reports, knitted with ladies-in-waiting, met Lachesis for tea…

“Personal guard?” the princess frowned, pouring hibiscus tea for her.

“Is this a Nordion thing, or…” she asked, but Lachesis shook her head.

 _Am I being chaperoned?_ —the thought struck her while Lachesis enthusiastically bubbled about snowball cookies she procured from a delicatessen, hoping to ease her homesickness because they represented Leonsterian winters. When the same cross knight brought the food for them, the younger Nordion _stared_ while she shot an _I told you so_ Look.

“Pardon me, Lady Lachesis—please sort them accordingly,” he said. “His Lordship said I am to protect Lady Grahnye accordingly, so I’ll taste them first.”

Lachesis gaped but complied—pointing out some had brown sugar, some other cashews… until she stopped it. “Let’s bake them ourselves, sister.”

“Sure…” Lachesis left the chair, but the cross knight shoved his elbow at her.

“I shall take you, milady.”

“I can walk just fine!” she raised her voice. To the horrified look of the knight, she popped a cookie into her mouth, hissing at him. “Tell His Lordship _to meet me_ if he’s concerned of my safety.”

The demonstrated fierceness and dignity made Lachesis smile. “You heard the Lioness.”

For the first time she squeezed Lachesis’ hand gently as the princess escorted her back. Alone again, she flashed a rare smirk, crossing the connecting door to the master bedroom… and lay down.

Peeking from under his bedsheet she saw him coming, taking off the body armor he wore to the field, draping his overdress over the chair…

The Lionheart approached the bed to relieve his tired muscles on it.

That was until he caught movement from under the sheet. Startled, his reflex kicked in. Having her pinned down, his palm hammered against her fingers. He gasped while she nailed him with her eyes.

“You said I’m not your prisoner. I can be here—can’t I?”

He saw what he destroyed—the snow cookie.

“Snowflakes break when you hold them too tight…”

“I just—want you attended.”

“I’m your wife, not a porcelain doll, Eldie,” she murmured.

“… I’m sorry.”

“And if you hold snowflakes just right, they…”

Suddenly she darted a light kiss on his cheek.

“… Melt.”

Running, she returned to her room, closing the connecting door at his face—again.


	5. Wild Ride

_05 – Haze_  

 

“You need a consort.”

At that time he couldn’t resist laughing when one of his best friends, Quan—the crown prince of Leonster—absent-mindedly suggested it. Teasing his friend back, he silkily mentioned that Quan should lead by example, considering Quan seated the Chalphian princess Ethlyn on his lap at the flower garden.

“A rare laughter is ominous,” Quan smiled wryly, evading Sigurd’s raised eyebrows.

Eldigan maintained his smirk—at least until Sigurd was back being a Sigurd by accidentally knocking everything on his desk for attempting to playfully choke the truth out of the brown-haired prince. The heir to Chalphy dukedom managed to salvage his ink box and quill before it spilled all over the important papers, but Quan’s rescue resulted in something else.

“These are Grahnye’s letters.”

“And what of it?” he kept a taciturn face then.

“And they smelled like roses,” Sigurd turned at him with raised eyebrows—again.

“I’m proud of my garden,” the Lionheart countered suavely, but his dear friends responded by tackling him to the floor. Sigurd ruffled his mane while Quan squeezed his cheeks, and he put up a lordly demeanor to remind his friends that an assault against a sovereign meant a diplomatic crisis.

When Quan pushed further he tactfully reasoned that Grahnye was perceptive and keen—making her an interesting conversation partner because her tastes corresponded with his. “An avid reader as well—smarter than Sigurd,” he concluded, smirking when Sigurd sulked.

“Must be because she stays inside most of the time,” Quan said.

“I’m a wooden conversationalist and married to duties, anyway.”

“Exactly why you need one,” Sigurd blurted.

When he met King Imka to receive congratulatory banquet for formally ascending the Nordion throne, the subject returned. As the new Nordion sovereign he renewed his oath to the King, repeating what bounded his forefathers for generations—Mystletainn was to protect the King; his cross knights rode for the throne. The kind king wished him happiness, including an heir to entrust the Demon Sword because a promising lord and peerless warrior deserved a worthy consort.

He recalled returning to Leonster for another winter holiday—this time with Lachesis in tow—having another sleigh ride with Quan and Sigurd. Pursing his lips seeing how unusually tongue-tied Lachesis was when Quan’s retainer Finn offered to steer her sleigh, he proposed something—taking his penpal with them. At that time he merely said he didn’t want to rescue Sigurd’s face off the snow for the second time, and the blue-haired lord was more than glad to be Quan and Ethlyn’s watchdog.

He never forgot how bright her eyes were despite the thick snow and graying sky. Gone was grace because she squealed and shouted when he steered the sleigh for them, racing the snowy plains of Leonster. Politely he asked if they were going too fast, and something touched him when she apologized for being too enthusiastic because she never did this before.

“I wasn’t complaining,” he stated. “Pardon—nobody ever took you?”

She chuckled, however. “Maybe they didn’t want me dying on them?”

He pulled the rein before their sleigh ran into a tree—surprised that she simply accepted it; like she was aware her existence was a nuisance. The sudden action threw her against his chest, but he enveloped her in his arm. He recalled telling her that he could just add more blankets to keep her warm, and her voice trembled asking if she troubled him. He said Nordion winters were tamer, and if not, he could always lend her his coat.

Everything was hazy after—except that her lips reminded him of desert strawberry-cream: smooth, red and so rich, wickedly enthralling, just ripe…

“Lord Brother?”

He startled. Slowly opening his eyes he saw scattered parchments on his desk for accidentally knocking the little wooden chest bearing her letters as he drifted to sleep. Paperwork took his time the most after field-drilling because he had wanted to personally oversee how peasants fared after winter. A blanket covered him and a cup of tea resided nearby.

“Lachesis, let Eldie sleep some more...” another voice whispered.

Smiling, he tidied the letterbox.


	6. King Rules, Queen Conquers

_06 – Flame_  

 

Her lion held up a leather boxing glove, moving on the rocky tiles of the balcony compound—in one of his letters, the lion mentioned he liked his training there, for he could watch the sun and feel the breeze sweeping over him. When Lachesis struck the lion heads-on, the older Nordion swiftly raised his fist to demonstrate blocking the princess’ sword arm.

Lachesis threw herself into his arms, beaming. “You’re the greatest!”

When the lion grunted, she peeked further—Lachesis had caught him off guard by punching his face, and she wryly took a good look at her own fist, realizing she couldn’t rival the princess, already feeling overwhelmed by her own court despite being their mistress.

Eldigan ended the session to have an audience with the court, and Lachesis waved at her at the corridor. “Lady Sister! Were you watching?”

Fire in her heart met the courage because she purposefully steered Lachesis away from the lion, asking where she procured her breeches and learned to punch like that. When Lachesis said it all began with seeing Elliot’s face at a banquet, she smiled.

“Please attend the court,” Eldigan caught up to her.

“Alright,” she slyly traced his collarbone with her finger, prompting the lion to clear his throat. She reasoned a loose cravat before he could say anything.

Between the relaxing fragrant bath she shared with Lachesis, it didn’t take long for the princess to vent to her about… men. She listened how fiery the junior lion was— _men are so entitled,_ Lachesis said; _they demand a lot but offering so little. Wanting my hand, Elliot thinks he's Eldie's rival._

“As if,” she stated calmly. Lachesis _yelled,_ bear-hugging her.

“Finally someone understands! Even Eldie doesn’t.”

Both ladies giggled when a knight knocked on the bath, asking if they were alright. Lachesis vented Agustrian noblemen to her—their forceful if not pathetic attempt to court her hand, or begrudging her brother. In turn, she told the younger Nordion how men evaded her—frail supposedly meant clingy, but ran away when they found out it was she who managed her family’s finances on behalf of her father.

“They forgot I’m an heiress still,” she muttered. “They wanted a womb to house an heir, and being sickly disqualified me from the job. Good riddance—if not already fleeing because I’m educated… oh wait, it’s not like they respected me when I’m helpless.”

“That should mean Lord Brother saw more than just a womb,” the princess grinned, saying Eldigan might have a thing for a disheveled look because it was cute yet natural—proof being the paper he tore but forgot to dispose; a reply letter for hers detailing her undone bun on some merry sleigh ride.

She showed up at the court in a pigtail with loose strands at the sides, prompting Eldigan to clear his throat again. A court official requested the cross knights to brandish their swords because taxes were halted. She watched the Lionheart uncomfortably shifted in his throne—twice, thrice… and interjected.

“The report?”

The spokesman startled. “Report—milady?”

“There must be a reason why villagers couldn’t pay,” she replied firmly. “If our prided cross knights are needed at the front, His Lordship would have heard about it from His Majesty.”

“I understand that the idea of a drawn sword is distressing—Your Ladyship is a woman after all,” the spokesman sneered. “As an officer, therefore…“

“Therefore you are to respect me as your liege,” she hissed back.

“This isn't Leonster, milady.”

“My apologies! Do you do finance with sword here in Nordion?”

“… Right, this is Nordion.”

“Eldie!”

“… And she is my consort. Sir, you are dismissed.”

That evening Lachesis followed her around—unexpectedly to her, praising her _strength._ The princess uttered there might be some things they could learn from each other—stunning her, until a creaking sound startled them both—revealing Eldigan at the threshold.

“Lachesis,” he spoke slowly, “out.”

She waited for him to chastise her usurping his authority like that—instead he growled, burying his nose in her hair.


	7. Scepter

_07 – Formal_

 

When the Lionheart informed her of the upcoming state banquet, she quickly got herself busy—asking for a guest list, chatting up ladies-in-waiting and court chef alike to know their preferences. Her smile blossomed recognizing Leonsterian dignitaries among the invited guest list.

“Ah, we used to call this one Uncle Marquis. He’s been with Prince Quan’s court since forever…”

“I can trust him with my private correspondence for Quan then?”

“Sure, milord! He’s loyal…” she paused, finding the Lionheart’s finger cleverly brushed her lips.

“Eldie.”

She determined to make everything perfect as a payback for his touch. As servants busied themselves, she supervised the kitchen, tasted dishes, baked cakes, even dragged Eve to retrieve the wine. While Alva stood guard outside of Lachesis’ door as the princess tried her outfit, Antonia the cleric was healing her stove-burned hand.

“Goodness, milady! If you wanted to bake, should just tell us!”

“Please make it quick before His Lordship finds out…” she winced in pain.

Carriages carrying state dignitaries began filling Nordion courtyard as the day wore down. Antonia applied some soothing ointment before bandaging her hand, mumbling a healing incantation. “We'll glove this,” she said. “I’ll prepare the dress.”

“Ah, yes…” swaying a little she wiped her sweaty forehead, excusing herself from the kitchen. Faintly she could hear people whispering again, and she dismissed Antonia before her lady-in-waiting heard them— _Lady Grahnye only pays attention to Leonster,_ they said; _Ssh, back then it was she who wore pants instead of Lord Eldigan,_ they laughed; _What if she’s_ —one whispered; _Ooh that’s too far, are you saying His Lordship lies in bed with a spy?_ — _Well, she’s Prince Quan’s gift!_

She clutched her chest. Suddenly her weak heart throbbed, suffocating her. Meanwhile the Lionheart traced the corridors, looking pleased that his entire household was ready to charm the guests. She, however, attempted to flee when he came closer.

A hard cough escaped her and her legs were no match for the lion’s pace. He encircled her shoulders, frowning because she was pale and tired. “So this is how my house came to life this afternoon.”

“I…”

“Rest,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ll take you.”

“N-no—no, milord!”

Eldigan stopped. She struggled against him, swatting his hand when he attempted to take hers. His confused expression was met with horror like she just realized what she did, and he could only stare while she sobbed, concealing the burned hand by pressing it against her chest.

“… Have I been violent and forceful towards you all along, Grahnye?”

She shook her head, and Eldigan could only let her leave.

She barricaded herself in the room. Antonia was back, bearing velvet boxes with the crest of Nordion on them while she slipped into gloves. The cleric's smile quickly fell upon realizing they missed tiara and sash traditionally worn by consorts of House Nordion. “I really don’t understand. I—pretty sure the chamberlain would have… oh, gods—might be in Lady Lachesis’ room!”

 _Chamberlain,_ she noted sourly, realizing Eldigan’s court officials might take their revenge on her after her stellar court session the other day.

“I’m wearing my personal jewelries. We’re not going to search Lachesis’ room and I’m not showing up with incomplete parure.”

She bore with dignity when several guests mistook Lachesis as the hostess instead of her. Some didn’t even bother to curtsy, considering she wore no tiara and sash unlike other titled heads. It was until the lion unknowingly presented her as his consort that breathes stopped and mouths gaped.

Eldigan took her outside—away from the guests—kissing her hand, slowly tugging her glove off with his teeth… revealing the burn mark.

“… I’m sorry…”

He gently tilted her head to face him. “Antonia informed me the chamberlain misplaced the regalia in Lachesis’ room. I’m calling a jeweler tomorrow for your tiara—you’re my wife,” unexpectedly he took off the sash signifying his position as Nordion sovereign, draping it over her. “Shall we return?”

“… Yes, milord,” she whispered, taking his arm offered to her.

“Eldie.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.


	8. With

_08 – Companion_

 

Eldigan sat with her when the jeweler he called arrived in Nordion that morning. He was there when the jeweler asked her things—like her favorite flower, what impressed her the most about Leonster, and then Agustria; specifically Nordion. She told the jeweler that Leonsterian winter left her a deep impression—something she stated with a blush.

“And Nordion, milady?” the jeweler kindly asked, sketching and taking notes.

Eldigan _glared_ when the footman mumbled her pause meant she hated Nordion.

“It’s…” she turned away a bit. “… His Lordship.”

The jeweler smiled while she maintained the awkward reclining position to not face the lion. She was shown a couple of sketches to select—based on diamonds for her Leonsterian winter with selections of beaded sapphires if she wanted to represent Nordion, ruby for the Lionheart’s color, soft pink pearls for her flower. She chose the diamonds with sapphires because the blue color signified Nordion beach and Leonster sky, blended together in alliance through her marriage to Eldigan while the brilliant gemstones would do her brown hair spectacularly.

“I’ll return in a week or two with models for Her Ladyship to try, milord,” the jeweler bowed.

“I’m commissioning a gold bandeau ruby as well,” the lion added. “Something lighter, not burdening her head. The pink shades are for a parure set of necklace, earrings, and bracelet.” Casually, he scribbled something in a heartbeat, sealing it with a wax bearing a lion on it. “This is an order—the deliveries must reach my office directly. Show the guards the seal if they forbid your entry.”

“Very good, milord.”

When the jeweler left, Eldigan sank himself in paperwork while she watched.

“Eldie?”

“Hmmm?”

“… You spent a lot in a sitting,” she seated herself beside him.

“I’m busy. Now that we can shop, why not?” her lion responded gallantly, his eyes didn’t leave the parchment he was reading. “You want to wear me in your hair. I want to wear you in my mind.”

That truly made her blush.

“I want to take care of you,” Eldigan signed another letter. “Heard you needed breeches?”

If she blushed prior, this time her cheeks felt burning. “N-not urgent. Let’s do something else that is.”

“… Here?” his heart throbbed when she lingered closer.

“Paperwork—yes?” she perched herself on his chair, looking at the parchments cluttering his desk. “Ah, this one… Thracian situation again?” she picked up one of them, unaware that the lion beside her deeply _inhaled,_ silently chastising his schoolboy giddiness. “I have a suggestion—you can open limited trade with Travant. Their having enough food for a season should cease their wyverns preying on us—Prince Quan won’t be offended and you keep the power balanced.”

He peeked at her.

“We can market Nordion products in a neutral hub—Miletos. Perhaps you and Prince Quan can have a conversation with Lord Sigurd beforehand to draft a measure. Nordion can buy mining products from Thracia—your jewelers can thrive because procuring minerals will be easier,” she flipped another page in a heartbeat. “Oh—and may I suggest contacting Verdane? Your fishermen may benefit from the trade.”

He didn’t realize his arm already encircled her waist.

“Did you cough just now?” she turned her attention at him. “Oh, perhaps the wind…”

“Ignore the window.”

“Alright,” confused, she obliged, returning her attention to his papers. “If you can devise an effective coastal defense against the Orgahill pirates… Antonia mentioned some soldiers could be bought…”

“Dishonorable indeed. I’ll inspect the troops.”

“That too, Eldie—perhaps you can reach a consensus to sell our agricultural products to the pirates in exchange of their cooperation to stop terrorizing our borders.”

“Noted. Nordion is lucky to have a smart mistress.”

“… Your hand is on my hip,” she whispered, unable to tell him how happy and proud she was hearing him acknowledging her value like that.

“It is.”

“… Eldie?”

“Yes… dear?”

He seated her on his lap; fingertips brushing her jawline while she looked at him—deeply, like emotions exploded inside of her the moment he called her that. “Your subordinates are waiting."

“I’m busy.”


	9. Can(not)

_09 – Move_

 

When she was younger, she loved climbing trees. The view was spectacular, and it gave her a sense of accomplishment when she managed to reach tall branches. Sunlight peeked from between the leaves, falling onto her skin; with the wind blowing her hair, she felt alive.

It didn’t help, having her butler held her hand while other kids arrived at the lyceum running free, spending their time playing before lessons started. One time she played jump rope because other kids started calling her snobbish. The merriment had to stop because one day she fell onto the ground, unable to move as cold sweat oozing out of her pores; her pale face gasped for breath. One time she found papers strapped on her back saying _Virus—Beware._

Since that day, she wasn’t allowed to run around anymore, and other kids drifted away without apologizing for forcing her like that. The mean notes stopped but so did the invitations, and she didn’t know whether she’d prefer being bullied into giving in or being ignored.

It was until she started taking books to the lyceum that mean notes appeared again, getting crueler as she entered womanhood. They called her by her title as mockery and handsome students betted to ask her out because supposedly Lady Grahnye was this uppity misanthrope who thought she was too good for the world.

The thing was nobody cared to smile at her, neither did they when she did. Since then she always took her books everywhere else; understanding that they were there when others weren’t. Ultimately she stopped climbing trees—a combination of lectures regarding propriety for a lady and concerns of her condition alike turned her into a stargazer because without the leaves the sun would be too strong to look at, and at least nobody would disturb her at night.

Somehow she started praying. For the sun to be tamer so she could look, so she could walk without feeling like fainting. For the stars to appear, for the road to be _bumpier_ because carriages wouldn’t speed and people would be kinder, offering her hand when her body felt like giving up.

When she managed walking freer, she was alone. People fleeted away leaving her in a locked vacuum—no invitation to balls, parties—let alone flowers while other girls blossomed and lived life.

Moving to Nordion as the Lionheart’s consort, she was amazed by the Hezul siblings—he was that sun—bright and brilliant yet so tame at the same time. He was warm, the way the sun nourished everything it touched without burning. His sister was fire; akin to the sharpest blade only the select few could wield.

She watched them training under the apple tree. If the Lionheart was proud of his garden, to her it was worth dying for—it was where she got her first invitation—teatime with Lachesis including first roses because despite his serene chivalry, the Lionheart was a discreet tease.

“Eldie?” she calculated her lion would be done training Lachesis in the art of combat, and she vanquished melancholia while baking his favorite Leonsterian biscuits remembering Hezul’s blessing didn’t stop with the Lionheart—Lachesis’ prowess… everything she wished to be. She imagined if they were to switch places Lachesis would’ve bitten—no—punched—when getting bullied. Lachesis would’ve climbed trees, giving a graceful middle finger to the preachy ones. Lachesis wouldn’t tumble and fall after running or gasped for breath like her.

Rustling leaves prompted her to look up. When someone descended the tree, she nearly screamed.

“Scared?” the Lionheart chuckled.

“Almost…” she murmured. Somehow everything came out—how boys would purposefully startle her, how they would steal her books and disappeared to places she couldn’t reach. At least with her not getting invited anywhere meant she could always buy books to replace what they damaged.

The lion looked concerned, making her wanting to leave, disappearing as always. He was the sun—strong and bright, whereas she…

Suddenly he hoisted himself back onto the tree. With stretched arm he waited on her, smiling... “Shall we?”


	10. Let Me

_10 – Silver_

 

That afternoon, the jeweler Eldigan commissioned came as promised, heading to the restricted area of the private compartments where Nordion royal family lived. It was already a nerve-wrecking experience for the softspoken old man—being surrounded by no other than two cross knight units at an instant, interrogated—until he procured the sealed order with the Lionheart’s wax.

“I’m not a threat,” the jeweler chuckled nervously. “Lord Eldigan bought some pieces for the lady.”

Widened eyes and gasps aside, they didn’t have much choice besides letting the jeweler in. Inside the Lionheart’s reading room, the jeweler set a couple of models he procured from a wooden box to the admiring gaze of his consort. They did a couple of try-outs, including adjusting sizes.

“The base needs to be soft to reduce strain,” the Lionheart commented, hiding a small smile when she sighed, watching the diamonds sparkle under the lantern. “Please craft them with her health in mind.”

“Yes, milord,” the jeweler bowed, feeling so pleased because unlike prior, his exit was unhindered.

When they were back alone she expressed how unreal everything was to her, but he simply closed the book he was reading. “The trading networks you suggested are profitable. As someone well-versed in finance, won’t you share revenue?”

“You didn’t even bargain.”

“I haven’t given you anything so far.”

Somehow she wasn’t really happy hearing that—let alone when words traveled again the next day. She later learned that it was a deliberate spending on the lion’s part—something people rattled about yet being powerless to contest it considering it constituted as personal expense.

Lachesis knocking on her door with the misplaced jewelries threw her in between. Of course she couldn’t ask the princess what her brother gave so far—moreover how the court took it.

“You can keep it, Lachesis,” she finally responded. “I’ll just need my consort sash back.”

Those murmurs were back, haunting her from behind— _Lady Grahnye didn’t need them back,_ they said. _Must be because she got something shinier!_

She declined Lachesis' shopping invitation.

“Lord Brother said you’ve been wanting breeches,” the princess frowned. “He misunderstood?”

“No, dear. Perhaps I did,” she replied sadly, confusing the princess.

The upcoming days saw her being more silent than usual. Her spending and dressing habit followed suit, because Lachesis caught her slipping some coins to beggars around the street while only asking for a modest cup of tea at the patisserie they visited. One time the paladin Alva lent her his cape, noticing she didn’t take her mantle as he steered the carriage back to the palace. Another time, Lachesis caught her mending her dresses while Eve took turn lending her a cape.

When Eldigan came to bed that night, he found the connecting door locked.

“Eldie! Do you even take care of Grahnye? How come she mended dresses and borrowed capes from Alva?” she wished she didn’t hear that.

He lay courteously on her bed. Antonia couldn’t refuse his entry—for certain, and guilt with exhaustion stopped her from locking the connecting door again. She heard him gently calling her name without even touching her, and only when he brought up the breeches again that she slowly turned at him.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t, Eldie.”

“Do you hate them?”

She felt like chewing on her blanket, back to being a scaredy little girl again—exactly because he treated her well, exactly because he paid without asking question… “You don’t need to buy me things just because you think you should,” she said then. “People talked.”

“You saved the treasury,” he murmured, cutting in. “You provided a solution to answer those diplomatic concerns. Can’t I thank you? And people—what crime do I commit— providing for my wife?”

“… I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I should, considering you had to recycle the limited things you brought from Leonster.”

“The rest is laundered anyway, perhaps I can use some Nordion textiles,” she sighed. “I’ll stop.”

“This dress is all that’s left?”

She nodded. “Why, Eldie?”

“Good,” he replied, unlacing it.


	11. Dame Grand Cross

_11 – Prepared_

 

The Lionheart informed his family that he planned on formally presenting the cross knights to her, using the occasion as a chance to inspect the troops before their scheduled Agustrian tour. It wouldn’t need a guess to understand how important and sophisticated the event would be—after all the cross knights were his pride as ruler of Nordion. Hand-picked after rigorous selection and training, the elite knights needed to demonstrate good chivalry conduct as well as the art of combat. With his recent ascension to the throne, taking the cross knights to ride the plains conveyed his patriotic resolve towards Agustria.

“That will make a spectacular view, Eldie!” Lachesis sighed adoringly. “If there’s someone who can shut people up without doing anything, it’s you.”

“I’ve no interest in being a peacock.”

“You’ll do that even without intending to,” the younger Nordion wittily countered.

“How come?” Eldigan’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Simple—you’re a man,” Lachesis smirked, earning the Lionheart’s exploding laughter.

Although laughter and jokes were exchanged, the planned event meant she would be accompanying him for the tour—something she was nervous about. She never rode with a military unit. Undoubtedly Eldigan’s would make the journey easy for both her and Lachesis, but it would still be a military campaign. From the little chit-chats she got from Quan, she had this idea that Eldigan’s cross knights were highly-disciplined and trained, mirroring his quality as a ruler and field commander.

“Tell me about your cross knights,” she whispered to him that night.

“Doesn’t sound like a nice bedtime story,” the lion chuckled. Still he obliged, marveling her in the genesis of his cross knights, his plans, the reforms he applied when he took the throne, the outline of his drilling and training, how he hand-picked them… before long he already shared his passion with her, his love to Agustria, his commitment to Nordion, his desire to protect the masses, his devotion as a knight…

Between occasional cricket sounds the peaceful quiet night echoed his serene deep voice in the master bedroom. She noticed the light in his eyes as he shared his hopes and dreams with her; the crescent curve on his lips when she asked questions; the sincere chuckles when she made a knightly salute at him; the gentle touch he landed on her arms as he corrected her gesture of swinging a sword; his firm answer of a “No,” when she wondered if she asked foolish questions…

“I know you’re strong,” she heaved. “I just… want to get to know you.”

“I’m here,” he rolled himself on her, his gaze harbored on hers. “So ask me.”

Her hair sprawled on his chest and he simply let her lean on him. He could hear a mumbled apology that the night might not proceed the way he wanted, but he simply stroked her arm, conveying a gratitude for her questions as she drifted sleeping.

He was gone when she rose. Not wanting to waste a time longer when all tasks were done, she took Lachesis riding with her loyal retainers accompanying them. Under the beautiful sight of ripe apples once they were out at the plains she engaged the triplets about military riding, and Lachesis was more than enthusiastic to show her how to draw a sword while mounted.

The triplets were half-nervous supervising their mistress trying some riding tricks and swordplay, but they happily helped. Chatters and chuckles practically serenaded their little entourage—until sounds of hooves startled them.

The triplets stopped frolicking while Lachesis gulped. The Lionheart majestically reined on his mount, his hair shone under late-afternoon sun. His white horse was armored just like his person, with the fabled Mystletainn unsheathed in his hand…

“I’m informed my wife is missing and my sister rode with a sword.”

Instructing her mount to approach his she made a knightly salute with the sword she unsheathed off Alva’s belt; her eyes glinted at him. “I rode well, Commander.”

He returned the salute. "Let's check," smirking slyly, his eyes sparkled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use grand cross because traditionally it was the highest rank in a European military order. To my knowledge it could be bestowed honorarily to women (despite not partaking in the actual military service itself) provided that said lady displayed distinction either by marrying a prominent title head (commonly as a consort to the sovereign or heir) or completing an extraordinary service which benefited the people of said country.
> 
> As for Eldigan's mischief... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	12. Scientia Potentia Est

_12 – Knowledge_

 

She never thought she would be there. The grand Agustrian royal palace rolled a red carpet to make a splendid presentation welcoming a state visit from Nordion. Everything felt like a fairytale to her, from the grand décor to the number of maidservants attending to her and Lachesis.

What left the deepest impression to her was the Agustrian king, however. Fatherly and regal at the same time, strangely she found similarities in the King and the way her own father conducted his behavior at home—exuding that certain aura which commanded respect from others, yet caring.

“Your Majesty,” Eldigan bowed with her. “Lady Grahnye of Leonster—my consort and lady of the House Nordion.”

The King wore a surprised look when he got to finally face her. She would not fault him for that—above all, Eldigan’s proposal shocked her first and everyone else second. When she curtsied to kiss his hand she thought she could see a glimmer of laughter reflected on the King’s eyes. “How are you faring, Lady Grahnye?” the King touched her head before lifting his hand to signal her to rise. “Leonsterian wisdom surely benefits Nordion as it will Agustria. I have a great confidence in Eldigan.”

The warm welcome and fatherly manner touched her much more than the palace’s grandeur. Surge of emotions formed a bile in her throat that her voice croaked a bit as much as it was enthusiastic when she curtsied deeper. “I place Nordion’s interest first, Sire,” she replied demurely. “And I shall do everything to assist His Lordship in fulfilling his role as Your Majesty’s trusted Sword.”

The guests were bedazzling. Curious distinguished folks approached her, and she caught their undertone as well as genuine interest—everyone figured Eldigan would marry a Grannvalian noblewoman considering his friendship with Sigurd of Chalphy, and her existence as an heiress was very much undetected since her health drove her to shun parties.

She responded everything as best as she could, ranging from Leonster to herself including how Eldigan behaved behind the doors. Resisting to smile wryly her eyes bulged hearing a whispered joke—that everyone expected the lion taking Lachesis’ hand to the aisle.

“Pardon—what?”

The same voices turned their heads at her, apologizing with a giggle for ‘accidentally’ spilled the beans. Giving her a sympathetic pitying look those lips mindlessly flapped to marvel her about the closeness shared between the leonine siblings.

“That’s not a secret,” she frowned again, retelling Lachesis’ training sessions with the lion; her routine equestrian activities with him—everything.

“Oh indeed,” those guests slyly smiled at her.

“Askew cravat, Eldie! And ruined coat,” she heard Lachesis speaking nearby, fixing the clothing articles under the apologetic chuckles of the Lionheart. Following her to gawk at the leonine siblings, the guests changed course, entertaining her with the projects Eldigan was involved in the past and his plan for the future while giving her a sympathetic look.

The Lionheart came into the room with two sashes; telling her that it was customary for state banquet—the sashes were black and gold in color, with his as sovereign having a more dominant black color to symbolize the legacy of Hezul. She contemplated the useless Nordion sash she packed from home—given back by Lachesis.

“It’s alright for not knowing,” the Lionheart said.

“… Not if I’m the only one.”

“Grahnye?”

“Perhaps you need Lachesis,” she left coldly. Surrounding herself with endless company, she resisted smirking when the guests from prior lost their tongues and begrudgingly complimented her vast knowledge in statecrafting-related subjects. Peeking at the Lionheart’s direction she saw him engaging a guest—the expression he wore, the laughter—needless to say he was awkward, and her heart gave in.

“It’s a military attaché from Mackily,” whispering gently behind him she smiled when he quickly snapped out of his unknowing state, returning to her own crowd. Barely a minute after, a hand brushed hers.

“Eldie?” she gasped softly.

“There’s another guest I don't know…” scratching his head, he murmured into her ear. “I need my wife. To my knowledge, such person is you.”


	13. Draw

_13 – Denial_

 

Prince Quan gave her a kiss in the cheek that afternoon, but following the protocol he with Lord Sigurd and Lady Ethlyn of Chalphy underwent a formal reception when arriving—observation of courtly etiquette by bowing and curtsying to Eldigan, since he was still the _king_ of Nordion regardless of the pact regarding the Mystletainn and Agustrian royal family.

Eldigan tapped his fingers impatiently. The moment his traditionalist chamberlain was out of the throne room, he leaped from his throne to embrace the guests. “Not to me,” he scoffed. “Don’t you ever.”

“Your pack does not include me though—Sire,” Ethlyn curtsied.

“Nonsense. You are an honorary member,” Eldigan took her to rise.

Formal manner vanished when maidservants entered with entertainment—cards and chess board took over their attention while Quan’s retainer Finn stood like a good soldier at the corner. The merry entourage pampered themselves with the best comfort Nordion could offer while exchanging news and good words from their respective homelands—until Sigurd invited the Lionheart for a spar, which received an instant nod.

“I’ve no time for something casual like that lately,” Eldigan personally led his guests to the tower where he trained Lachesis. A moment later the lords and ladies took off their capes and overdresses, rolling sleeves and even ungloved themselves after Lachesis’ triplet retainers came inside with refreshments and padded cloths.

She watched as the lords took their sides to face off each other. Ethlyn helped Sigurd fastening the padded cloth protecting his chest while Eldigan dressed himself. “Well, you’re the only bachelor here now,” the princess smirked.

“The only one?” Sigurd quirked an eyebrow.

The pink-haired princess took a refuge behind Quan’s back with a red face.

She watched everything unfold. Ethlyn’s familiarity with armor—her own husband’s trained hands to dress himself... while she contemplated. Ethlyn cheerfully engaged Lachesis about training, and the Lionheart’s sister was equally delighted upon hearing the pink-haired princess also exercised with a sword as much as she drilled herself in the art of healing.

Only then she understood why something always felt amiss.

Slowly she kicked her heels to approach Eldigan, whom by then was nearly done armoring himself. The Lionheart tilted his head at her with a polite smile. “Oh, no need. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

She returned the smile doubtfully. Had he asked, actually, she had no idea how to arm a warrior.

It didn’t take long for Eldigan to engage his blue-haired friend. They exchanged friendly blows; powerful strikes parried and blocked each other that it was hard to determine the strongest swordsman between both. A lion met the dragon of his caliber, throwing jests as well as sword swings. Eldigan smiled. And laughed. And joked. And… _lived._ When both Mystletainn and silver sword were sheathed back by their respective owner, he appeared so refreshed, mumbling something regarding the carefree military academy days where he could spar and fistfight his friends as like while Sigurd caught the nostalgic vibe.

“You’re a married man now, Eldie.”

“I’m still your friend…” Eldigan had no time to finish whatever it was in his mind because the princesses took the field, saluting each other with a rapier in their hands.

Again, she watched. Lachesis’ explosive strikes mirrored the Lionheart’s versus Ethlyn’s accurate blows; Hezul in one side while Baldo cheered the other. Both rapiers ended up touching each other at the same time, and both princesses hugged enthusiastically that their match ended with a draw.

“And you, Lady Grahnye?” Ethlyn twirled her sword.

“She can’t, Little Sigurd,” Eldigan answered. They returned inside, with the lord trio taking lead while Lachesis took Ethlyn, engaging her in the subject of swordsmanship.

Again, she watched. It was until Quan separated himself from the lords, matching her paces. “Eldigan is always like that when he spars Sigurd,” he chuckled. “Does Nordion treat you well so far?”

“Does he… truly love me, Your Royal Highness?”

Quan stopped. She mumbled a quick apology, smiling like a good hostess. After all, watching from a distance had always been her entire life—Nordion or Leonster alike.


	14. Brickfielder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brickfielder; wind that brings hot air from the outback to the cooler regions (usually during summer).

_14 – Wind_

 

Something felt different when he woke up. There was a throbbing pain at the corner of his eye, and his alertness changed into chuckles—the back of her hand was on his eye. A knock from across the connecting door made him smirk.

“Hmmm, Eldie. Sword…”

Practicing his lordly expression before the mirror two times he retained his composure, slowly crossing the connecting door to open it. Her lady-in-waiting curtsied—her solemnity fell into ruin when she lifted her head only to find the Lionheart standing there.

“F-forgive me, milord! I thought…”

He started the day with a smirk.

Eldigan might be a courtly nobleman, but he was still a knight first. As always it did not take long for him to get dressed before his white horse was out of the stable and squires bowed to armor him. Before leaving, however, he left a note to her lady-in-waiting.

He rallied his cross knights and got them to march in formation. He noticed they had been awkwardly saluting him. It was getting harder to dismiss the concerned look he saw each time he faced a knight. “Is something amiss, soldier?”

“Sir! Black eye, Sir!”

He smirked again.

Meanwhile her lady-in-waiting brought a note to the bath. It was simple—that he asked if she wanted to redeem the unanswered letter from days ago to ride with him, and he would be back so he could eat breakfast with her.

With a good mood, she went into the kitchen to prepare for the food. If she was to keep a secret from him, it would be adoring his penmanship—distinctive curves and signature to make it known that they came out straight from his desk. If not that, the blanket he pulled to shield her from the night breeze still smelled like the light cologne he wore to bed last night when he playfully snatched her off through the connecting door between the Lady’s room and master bedroom.

“Next time let’s play something you can partake,” he said then.

“You treasure Lord Sigurd—it’s all in your eyes.”

“But for this game…”

His trailing words made her grin.

She frowned in the kitchen. People gave her a concerned look, hesitating to answer her questions regarding the Lionheart’s personal taste. Shaking her head, she settled with a Leonsterian breakfast while the head maidservant frowned.

“Please don’t sulk, milady. It’s unlikely in _Nordion_ kitchen.”

She _gaped_ —sulk? “His Lordship’s didn’t marry a child.”

“His Lordship didn’t always wake up with black eye either,” the head maidservant venomously dropped into a curtsy, leaving her alone with her cleric lady-in-waiting. It was as if the entire household staff was boycotting her through some rumor that she, to the Lionheart—

During the ride, her mare raced his horse at the plains. It was as if they engaged in a little competition, with her taunting him to catch up. Accompanying lifeguard cavalrymen and maids could only stare as their mistress steered her mount to get close to him—only to steer it away again like mocking him. And to their surprise, Eldigan steadily followed from behind.

When she was about to do the feign retreat again, suddenly he clicked his tongue, steering his mount to turn back instead of following her. His golden mane billowed, fondled by the gentle wind as he caught her rein now that her horse neighed out of surprise.

“Pray tell?”

“Your eye.”

“Carelessness—not your fault,” he shrugged. “And Leonsterian meal is good—in bed or not.”

“Eldie!!”

Ignoring her fierce blush he swooped her off her mount. “I take charge from here,” he said, calming her master-less mount with one hand and holding her with another. Before she could comment, he reached for something shiny off the belt, placing it in her hands now that he rode for both of them.

“W-what is?”

“Sword?” _again,_ he smirked, quickly marveling her about the slim sword and how-tos before she could comment. When the wind blew against his mane for the second time, he noted that despite her silence and mad blush, her knightly salute was flawless this time.


	15. At Your Command

_15 – Order_

 

He expected servants bringing his breakfast as always, but instead of uniformed, gloved people pushing the cart into the dining room, it was her. “Nordion breakfast!” proudly she opened the lid, setting all that was good onto the table while he got tongue-tied. Lachesis showed up after, beaming.

“I was expecting a Leonsterian meal, but this is grand!”

“… That’s mine though,” Eldigan smirked, earning her foot on his boot. “The fishery trade with Verdane went smoothly, thanks to Grahnye. I’m heading south—inspecting it.”

Eldigan wasted no time preparing his horse. Before leaving with lifeguard cavalrymen, he left the castle after reiterating that household concern must be addressed to her on behalf of him. She was left in the Lionheart’s study with a pile of parchments. The chamberlain bit back his tongue when delivering all the reports for the day, waiting on her as if expecting her to miss.

She didn’t, though.

“If you don’t want my signature—fine,” she rolled another parchment after scribbling some notes. “But of course His Lordship will hear that _sulking_ be the reason why these matters are halted.”

“Please don’t misunderstand—Your Ladyship is from Leonster, therefore...”

“Therefore I made Nordion breakfast. If I could master the kitchen as well as His Lordship’s tongue—taste,” she coughed a bit, “don’t assume I can’t run this household, Lord Chamberlain.”

However something caught her attention after the defeated chamberlain withdrew. A parchment was sent from a garrison in northern Agustria, requesting assistance. Orgahill pirates landed ashore, sliding into a village after bribing some soldiers and they planned on a total takeover as the desolate garrison braced themselves for an annihilating ship rush.

Eldigan was in the south—shopping fruits and mingling with the locals…

She retrieved the gifted slim sword from Eldigan, relaying the situation in a heartbeat to Lachesis—and borrowed her breeches. Telling the princess to safeguard Nordion and attend the household necessities, she galloped to the castle town to visit the cross knights’ barracks. People stared when four elite units layered her mount in full protective formation to follow her north while she awkwardly fastened her helmet. Every mile her scout informed how the pirates had ventured deeper, possibly taking route to reach Nordion first after smelling that the lord was away.

“Gentlemen, I’ve no experience in warfare,” she stated frankly. “But I share the Lionheart’s vision of protecting people. Tell me what you usually do—we’ll stop them before they raze another village!”

Her squad formed a plan—opening a passage giving an impression that everything was safe to lure them out of the forest where the cross knights could hit well. She waited with trembling hands as rain broke above her. It felt like forever until a knight lighted a torch—a signal well-received by his comrades preluding the offense they launched against the pirates.

She held the sword signifying command. Two cross knight units ushered fleeing villagers while the other two battled. It was tiring—having to steer back and forth, checking on houses, shouting at the soldiers to cease fire and watch where they threw javelins. She felt so, so weary—the physically-demanding activities began taking a toll on her, and her mount was distressed being steered with one hand.

“That’s the commander!”

The cross knights didn’t reach her in time.

She clutched her sword—no way she risked making it known that the lady of House Nordion led this operation. The axe came viciously, and she only knew to stab—

The pirate gasped. Blood splatted like flood from his maimed nape. Behind him, another mounted figure ferociously scanned everything—raising his sword, he yelled—charismatic and strong… “Cross knights!! Three do a wedge—one unit goes mobile wall to fence the villagers. Ride!”

“Sir!!”

She saw it. The demonic black sword Mystletainn, the horse, the…

“Eldie,” she stuttered, shakily unclasping her helmet. Her hair sprawled around her, wet with rain and sweat as her lips trembled. He took over the rein from her, an arm encircling her back with Mystletainn in it. And she kept repeating his name…

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “Thank you—my lioness.”


	16. Gratia

_16 – Thanks_

 

She sighed when he carried her to the nearest barrack located around the garrison. It had been raining, and the battle proceeded smoothly right the moment he arrived. He quickly took charge, snapping the soldiers out of their confusion altogether when water came down and the pirates managed to pierce through their line. His voice was clear and firm—and it did not take long for the knights to follow where his Mystletainn stood under the clouds. He had formed an inner plus-shaped line, barricaded with an offensive diamond formation on the outside with the rest easily altered their position in a cross-shaped form, covering every corner per his instruction that nobody, nobody should outflank them to reach her.

His knights swept across the field like weeding wild grass; right and left sides left formation only to have their position fulfilled by those who previously rode as rear guards. When those who left returned, they quickly assumed the rear guard position so the line did not remain empty.

When another soldier gave a salute and signal, Eldigan nodded. Separating his lifeguards from the cross knights, he let her three units finished the mission while his lifeguards rode closer to him, protected by a unit of cross knights as they rode back to the garrison in a patterned manner.

“Look at your haul,” he murmured to her when his knights chained the captured, offending pirates.

“By your command, though,” she smiled weakly.

“No. You reacted fast. They would have reached deeper into southern Agustria had you didn’t ambush them here,” he patted her head. “Defending a castle is harder than offending one.”

“I didn’t fight.”

“Grahnye—I can’t ask for more,” by another hand signal the lifeguard cavalrymen rolled their Nordion banners over her, shielding her from the rain. “Disguising yourself with armor to make those pirates think they were fighting _me_ is brave. I’m probably the sword, but you are my shield.”

She didn’t say anything after that and neither did he.

“Here, milord?” the barrack’s quartermaster glanced at her doubtfully. “I suggest the lieutenant’s room for comfort—but still, Spartan for someone delicate like Her Ladyship.”

“And your delicate mistress nearly lost her life to shield the people here. Are we arguing this, Sir?”

The Lionheart’s harsh tone silenced even the most stubborn knight. The lieutenant was more than happy to service his liege and it didn’t take long for Eldigan to lay her on the bed, undoing her armor and padded cloth she wore over her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Eldie, I’m not injured. You showed up on time.”

“I rode straight here the moment Lachesis’ courier reached me,” he rolled her sleeves. “Still won’t hurt to check everything in case there are hidden wounds.”

“… Everything?”

He paused. And she chuckled when his expression changed.

“Sorry. I’m just—so, so relieved,” she sighed. “I remember fainting after trying to wield a sword—not knowing it was a silver sword that I sneaked out. And you were displeased.”

“I was worried.”

“Then you gave a suitable sword for me,” she smiled. “Thank you for being caring…”

“… Ssh,” he whispered, unlacing her blouse from behind. “Clean here. No broken bone?”

“I told you…”

He shifted, looking into her anticipating eyes. “Thank you for protecting my people, Lioness.”

“Duty.”

“And thank you for devoting yourself to Nordion too,” he tucked her hair strands behind her ear. “No scratch. This face is safe.”

“Thank you for—saying that,” her voice croaked a little. “I’m not a spy…”

“You are my wife,” he tilted her head, gently running his fingertips over her neck, down, down to her collarbone… to her sternum, to her blouse’s buttons. “Thank you for putting up with me—us.”

“Eh…” she found a flower petal in his pocket.

“The bouquet is home—you didn’t answer when I asked what to bring back.”

“Thank you, Eldie,” she sobbed a little. “I really just wanted you return safely…”

“Ssh," he undid the buttons. “I thank _you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I refer to Eldie's stellar ~~or horrifying~~ leadership rank here, making his units fight well when he's there.


	17. Of the Beheld and Beholder

_17 – Look_

 

When he took her out for the first time in daylight, it was clear that the town had a new hobby—lion-spotting. It didn’t help that he was an outstanding bachelor, and his carriage, designed with finesse and elegance befitting his taste, was always an anticipated sight to behold. It wasn’t that Chalphy’s Lord Sigurd didn’t compare—he was, after all, a caring man with lively spirit. Trying to ignore his presence would have been like trying to ignore a gushing wind—energetic and quite bubbly, yet by no means a fool. However it soon became clear that Lord Sigurd didn’t seem to be aware of wandering eyes especially dedicated to him, and after catching him snoring out of some boring, formal court speech session, socialites and debutantes alike started giving up—albeit still regarding him in an endearing manner, however.

But he was a different case. Bright and strong yet serene, he reminded them of the sun. Perhaps it was the golden mane. Perhaps it was his commanding presence at the field—if not due to his red coat. He didn’t say much, but he was there when he was—felt and real; the sun.

Needless to say, people tried their best to hide their shocked expression when the lion was out sightseeing with his friends—only that her hand clutched onto his arm, gloved like all her person being protected by layers of coat including a bonnet which framed her face. The snowy night was spectacular, but snowy day gave a completely different view and feeling.

At that time, she thought that would be the case with the lion. Neither he nor she said much when they reached the market. While people looked at him adoringly, all she gave was peeking from under her bonnet, tightening her scarf because the cold breeze felt like a stab into her skin. The wind was tamer by the time they got to the market, allowing her to unroll the scarf and loosen her coat—a small-yet-significant joy now that she didn’t look like a sickly disaster victim needing his arm for support. Sigurd chirped about all the street food being fried and baked around them, recruiting her as a spokesperson for Leonsterian culinary goodness now that Quan and Ethlyn drifted away to enjoy some private moment for themselves.

Again, eyes followed when she chattered with Sigurd. There was a mixture of disbelief, jealousy, and to some extent—disgust. _She has Lord Eldigan at the arm, and yet,_ some said; _He’s spellbound—look at that flat face,_ one mumbled; _Well, if I’ve never been sought by two grade-A bachelors sure I’d make most of it. Lord Eldigan sure is dashing, but he’s rather stiff,_ another concluded with laughter.

“Got it. Thanks, Lady Grahnye,” a satisfied Sigurd bolted to queue for fried noodles. She chuckled at his innocent enthusiasm, but glancing aside, the lion inhaled the air—his expression was gentle, so gentle that the unexpected faint smile petrified her.

“I must thank you—I rarely do leisure,” he simply followed when she took him to a candy-seller. Brown sugar was melted and shaped into various forms and she noticed he exhaled in content. Whispering to the seller, her request was clear.

“Eldie?”

He looked down. It was a lion-shaped brown sugar candy with ginger and caramel. Slowly the corner of his mouth twitched—only for it to gradually grow into a tender laughter. “I only had this as a child,” he sighed, licking the candy. _Stiff and wooden, people said_ —she thought…

“Imagine if you kept what you had as a child now—diarrhea,” she jested.

He paused eating. When she wondered if she had been too deliberate with him, his laughter exploded catching her off guard. Impossible that his sharp eyes didn’t notice people’s stares at him, yet he merely approached the candy-seller to order a flower-shaped candy for her.

Her smile blossomed under the shy winter sunlight as she rolled her scarf around his neck. “Stay warm,” chuckling, she reached for his arm, but he clutched her fingers first.

“I am though.”


	18. Hot

_18 – Summer_

 

Eldigan promised a ball for a blossoming Lachesis, and the previously excited princess scoffed when her brother not-so-secretly hinted that she might find someone there. “Gentleman, in Agustria?” she sighed. “Why don’t you hold a jousting?!”

“And making you a trophy?” Eldigan quirked an eyebrow, successfully silencing the fuming Lachesis.

The entire household got busy. Her first summer as Nordion mistress felt like an awakening, the way Eldigan’s flower garden came to life, coloring the beautiful castle ground and she determined to make most of it as a hostess. When Eldigan called for a seamstress for a couple of pieces for her and Lachesis’ summer gowns, it didn’t take long for her to hijack the appointment while Eldigan decided it was the perfect time to take his cross knights out for a harsher drilling section, befitting the weather. While Lachesis adored Eldigan for not slumping like a hibernating bear as other Agustrian lords were busy pampering themselves, she continued her project—making Lachesis try out different kind of bolts, asking which ones felt the most comfortable for physical activities.

“I’ll explain,” her sheepish remark welcomed Eldigan because cloth bolts rolled over the bed.

“I’ll call a maid.”

“No—take your clothes off! I mean…” nearly suffocating herself with a pillow she pointed at the bolts. “Your knights could use something more comfortable. Cotton? You’re the finest knight here to model.”

“Why don’t we?” he took the pillow from her. “Help me gauge the heat…”

Eldigan groaned when she woke him up. There wasn’t much time for the sovereigns to enjoy themselves because of the piling tasks and he promised her to make his knights try her models. Planting a kiss on her forehead while she crawled under his blanket, he told her that his dearest friends were invited. “Tired, milady?”

“Go away,” blushing, she threw the pillow at him.

Nevertheless, he was right—one way or the other. The ball preparation took most of her attention, and Lachesis beamed seeing how everything was richly decorated for her. The finest laces were embroidered the way the finest gowns were sketched, but the loudest squeal was out when she brought a flower crown into the room. “There wasn’t anyone to do this with in Leonster, so…”

Lachesis tackled her into a hug.

Sigurd and Ethlyn arrived with Quan in tow. The blue-haired lord was more than happy to take Lachesis in his arm because he already dreaded having to polish himself at the ball. Likewise, with Sigurd around, pesky noblemen stopped bothering her—his boisterous casualness and her sharp wit made them a formidable pair, ready to vanquish any commentary deserving a slap. Everyone praised her, praised all the beauty emanated from Nordion palace that afternoon. Lachesis stunned the crowd for rivaling the roses in her elegant pink summer dress and her hair let loose, decorated with the flower crown from prior. The Lionheart equally stunned people for putting some wild flower in his hair, smirking when Sigurd got tongue-tied as he proudly announced his knights liked the new uniform after performing equestrian show for the adoring audiences. The merry atmosphere got to him as well, proven by slapping Quan’s back hard that the Leonsterian prince coughed and blushed after being found to seriously engage Ethlyn in a secluded place.

“That Hezul muscle is murderous.”

“And Njorun’s courage isn’t?” Eldigan returned the jest, noticing a ring in Ethlyn’s finger.

“I need a drink,” Sigurd sighed.

“Count me in,” Lachesis took the perfect momentum to escape Elliot. “And Eldie—no,” she smirked, choking Sigurd on his own wine.

Tracing the corridors he found his way back to the Lady’s bedroom, finding her sitting on the bed. “Needed rest. I guess I’m doomed to be inside all the time,” she smiled sadly.

He responded by calling for a buggy cart—with a bonnet.

“Let’s do this right,” he held the rein while she beamed at the needed comfort inside. He took her away from the merry palace grandeur, sailing flowerbeds. Smiling at her satisfied expression, he approached, calmly asking if the dress was too hot as well.


	19. Queen

_19 – Transformation_

 

She settled comfortably on a cushion. Under her, a group of ladies-in-waiting chattered and sewed—a typical activity in Nordion court. The idyllic hours in daylight meant castle ladies would gather to accompany her. Sometimes Lachesis would be among the crowd, but lately the princess engrossed herself in her trainings.

Chatters brewed and she listened with great attention—as always. A keen learner and sharp observer, being knowledgeable was her sole consolation since her physique limited her. Not only that—she’d teach the ladies to read and write because many came from marginalized families who couldn’t afford education.

When the head maidservant came in, however, her little joy got interrupted. It didn’t take long for her to realize that some prominent courtiers took little liking of her—from her insignificant bloodline, her sickliness, and how she blended Leonsterian elements in Nordion instead of just absorbing everything to be a Nordion. Grimacing wryly, she wasn’t sure anyway—they didn’t seem to look pleased either when she took parts in events as the Lionheart’s consort.

“The late Lady Nordion was so graceful that she wouldn’t see her ladies in loose hair and thin gown like that. But then again the late Lady Nordion didn’t always faint,” the head maidservant scoffed.

Eldigan returned to a pile of parchments. His eyes lighted up when she simply told him that the ladies she taught helped her summarizing the remaining summer budget he allocated for the ball and entertainers. Because of the surplus, he announced it was the time to add something on the wall.

She blinked and grimaced when Antonia stuck another hairpin into her hair. “Please don’t move, milady! This needs to be held in place,” the cleric said.

Eldigan waited in full regalia while she nearly tripped on her heavy court gown. It was decorated with crystals and gemstones—sparkling that it was, the rich embroidery and thick fabric to hold them in place weighed her down. Never mind that her lady-in-waiting had pinned about seven brooches into her sash. With the new parure encircling her neck, her wrist, and even dangling on her ears, she wondered how she still could walk at this point. Lachesis showed up after, looking absolutely regal and beautiful despite wearing less pomp. Eldigan gave her a hand while Lachesis gracefully walked on her own.

“Blood princess is indeed different,” she heard another whisper.

She held still while the painter worked. Eldigan stood unperturbed as always, while the weight of her tiara began pressuring her head. Every inch of her demanded to breathe. Strong sunlight peeked from the windows, readied to melt her. It started annoying her—listening to court painter telling her to maintain a regal look, being told not to grin until the painter announced the sketching was over.

She didn’t miss the head maidservant’s look when Eldigan carried her to the couch. “If you want to call me _unfit_ , do so clearly!” she shot a look while maids helped her changing.

Frustrated, she mumbled an apology when Eldigan approached. The head maidservant deeply curtsied to him with such unforgettable expression. She hammered her fist on his chest when he came closer… “I’m not happy being sickly! I hate relying on you like this—but listen, I’m _chaste_!”

She sobbed—the first ugly-crying she eventually had. Feeling a touch which loosened her ribbon she turned around. “Do you think I married you just because of alliance?”

“What else,” she sniffed. “I’m frail anyway—I’ll birth the son you need before dying—“

His eyes pierced hers sharply. Out of the look he gave her so far, _angry_ was never it. And yet—

“Don’t insult yourself.”

She paused.

“Yes, you need me like that. But aren’t you my spouse?” he growled. “If I want convenience, I’d have courted Ethlyn—no, a tree trunk in a dress with lights off would do. … Which we never did.”

“Eldie!!”

“Call me _appropriately_ ,” he mustered a commanding tone.

“… Milord?”

“Appropriate, Grahnye!”

“Eldie…?”

“More.”

“… Husband?”

“… Do that again,” his voice rasped.


	20. Groundbreaking

_20 – Tremble_

 

“So here’s the plan for the time being—public libraries, girls-only schools… fostering safe spaces for girls to get educated without having to feel inferior to their male counterparts, considering people tend to send their sons first when they have the money to whereas the girls become limited, dependent of their male relatives! We can add life skill such as embroidery—this way textile industry will bloom here in Nordion, reducing our imports from Miletos while increasing our exports at the same time. Verdane’s lush forests give us beautiful silk bolts, but Nordion can rival them this way! Oh, right—you need to improve traveling access. Then highwaymen… yes, road patrol! Ah, I got carried away! What do you think? What do you think, Eldie?”

He pursed his lips. Her enthusiasm never failed to make her shine—the light in her eyes, the way she bobbed her head that her side curls swayed framing her face. She looked so alive, so lively that her cheeks turned healthy pink like blossoming summer roses. “… We’ll try them all.”

It didn’t take long for him to see that she was actually a woman of passion, eager to work once she found her calling. Lachesis made a fabulous hostess so far, but there was something unique in Grahnye’s way of handling his household, giving him that sense of assurance that everything would be taken care of and attended to when he was gone. She showed him things he missed, paid attention to the areas he didn’t… as much as he loved Lachesis, the princess’ fire could… burn.

His approval only fueled her enthusiasm to continue what already planted at home. Before she knew it her typical ladies-in-waiting crowd grew—maidservants used their free time to sit on the carpet with the others as she taught applied mathematics and writing. It soon became a busy summer for her, taking Alva to get her a blackboard for the ladies and visit orphanages to supply them with books.

Words traveled like wildfire when she submitted for a proposal to fund women-only scholarship— _wild lady,_ _mingling with uncouth farmers when the Lionheart was away._ About her making young women improper because education apparently made rebellious women, and when the head maidservant whispered to the chamberlain that she only needed to arm ladies-in-waiting to complete her sinister plan, she found an unexpected ally in Lachesis.

Eldigan received shocking news—the lady had maids armed, gathering them for a manifesto, dragging Lachesis. Approaching the main hall carefully like a hunting lion he heard familiar sounds—swinging swords, with people laughing.

“Nothing is proper anymore here, milord,” the head maidservant sighed.

He opened the door. A group of ladies were training rapier with Lachesis while another cheered and laughed facing a blackboard with books in their hands, with her in the center. With a simple hum the merriment stopped—so powerful and shocking was his arrival that Lachesis’ sword made loud sound as it fell onto the floor because nobody dared saying anything. “You interrupted us,” she glared, knowing it was the head maidservant filling his ears with _venom._ Sighing, she held her hands at him. “Chain me up.”

He startled—even Lachesis gasped.

“If you think I’m staging a coup, then treat me like a traitor,” her voice trembled. “Ladies here are barely educated—they are often taken advantage of! Many were sold as a kid to work because raising a girl is a lost cause, apparently! You should listen how happy they were composing their first sonnet. Since I’m a witch, _your_ _second wife_ there suggested I armed them. Lachesis helped because household auxiliary guards make nice additional security personnel—why, is she not pleased now?!”

“M-milord! Her Ladyship c-crossed a line—“

She stopped. He held his hand—would he slap her? But Eldigan turned around, pointing at his head maidservant fiercely. “You—I want you demoted. Is it proper to slander your lady?" lifting her to the couch, he observed the blackboard and scattered books with adoring look. "Don't be afraid of me."

His enveloping arms calmed her trembling lips.


	21. Horizon

_21 – Sunset_

 

Eldigan caught the displeased expression when the chamberlain came into his study, bringing paperwork as always. It didn’t take long for the old man to speak—he already had a looming feeling that the talk would be unpleasant, and it was proven right when the chamberlain didn’t waste a breath to complain.

He used to distance himself from household drama, which… remained as a vivid memory each time he saw Lachesis—born from a court lady, then acknowledged as a blood princess. When it was clear the household didn’t shy away from bashing Grahnye, he decided doing what Nordion men were known for—honoring women.

“No idea what she’s scheming, but even consorts aren’t infallible,” the chamberlain soured because he _smiled_.

Right, he demoted a senior court lady. And Grahnye proposed to patron public libraries and girls-only schools. These complaints only got pettier the more he listened—how tacky it was for her to replace the regal-yet-somber Nordion curtains with pastel colors for the summer, the vegetables she added for healthier menu, her decision to educate girls on an advanced level…

“Getting those curtains washed, growing our crops, reducing illiteracy. Conspiracy?” he scoffed.

“Milord, please take this seriously.”

“My wife thirsts for my blood or plans to rule me through a future heir—really?” he sipped his coffee.

“There’s no heir, milord,” the chamberlain bit back before withdrawing.

Suddenly the corridors he sailed appeared longer, colder… and unforgiving. Sighing, Sigurd’s words came into his mind— _You’re a married man now_ —wondering if something was amiss about him, turning him into stranger even in the eyes of the closest just because he was married.

He never said he loved her.

After all love felt like a foreign concept—somewhat. He didn’t recall his parents said that to each other, or his father to the concubine. Yet Lachesis was born and the late Lord Nordion held the concubine’s hand at her deathbed.

He questioned himself regarding convenience more than his courtiers dared. He truly believed convenience wasn’t the case with Grahnye—even if he played safe, assuming she wouldn’t live long… no, there was no other lady in his mind. Still, being with her—then married—allowed him to experience… new things. Soon he felt the difference when she fixed his cravat instead of a squire. When she dozed off for mending his pants instead of having a tailor; when she engaged him in his study to present her ideas as well as challenging his, ending with a consensus that both wanted the best for Nordion.

His mind flew back to the coffee again—how she had put ginger and cinnamon in it, giving rich taste of nourishing spices. The extra pillow on his chair, books accordingly shorted, the way she pointed out at things he overlooked— _This sheet needs changing; It’s raining—the knights?_

Orange shadows of late afternoon sunlight peeked through. Maids curtsied to him as they passed by, with one of them explaining she’d been taking over since he demoted the head maidservant.

He frowned. Right—in anger he did such, without a backup plan of another appointee. And she didn’t ask. She merely took the share, keeping everything neat as always, as always before he retired in the evening … Suddenly he missed her. He missed her so badly; a sensation he never thought he had. He didn’t just walk—perhaps he flew, tearing every door until he got to the sovereign’s private compartments.

And there he saw her. Her cleric just finished an incantation to ease her fatigue while she welcomed him with a smile, gesturing to the windows, wearing apron. “Welcome back! I just reinstalled those Nordion curtains, felt a bit light-headed but—Eldie?”

He didn’t listen. Hezul knew where he got the idea—but he tore the apron, swiping her off the feet without talking. To somewhere secluded, somewhere… theirs. _There’s no heir,_ the chamberlain said—and he smirked. Her eyes dove into his as he set her down.

“… Say, if a child is to walk these corridors…”


	22. Do Not Touch

_22 – Mad_

 

Eldigan kept her with him for the entire morning, bettering her mood. Sending her and Lachesis to shop with a loaded silken pouch, he promised to take care of the household and look into fulfilling the head maidservant position soon.

“Please pamper yourself.”

They loaded into a carriage while the paladin triplets followed on horseback. The happy atmosphere transcended to her as much—Lachesis enthusiastically blabbered about shops, prided pastries of Nordion, textiles she patroned. Her giggles escaped her throat imagining Eldigan being a househusband. She secretly wished for an everlasting friendship with Lachesis—somehow her donning a beautiful dress felt less overwhelming than seeing her in combat attire when training with the lion.

Lachesis didn’t waste time taking her into a boutique. She sighed adoringly at the displayed beautiful fabrics. The seamstress served them lava cakes with pineapple juice, dropping into curtsy because the industry she reformed brought nothing but profit into her shop. With Verdane’s silk bolts stayed at a reasonable price, the seamstress was willing to give a gift of her choice for free. Her eyes fell onto an elegant sleeveless satin gown—burgundy with gold accents and belt with a train; then another—gorgeous black chiffon with gold laces. Lachesis giggled, nudging her to buy _both_ as she contemplated an elegant fencing cape. Concluding their purchases, both ladies smiled, returning to their carriage.

The driver didn’t say anything. She assumed it was because he was used to driving Lachesis, but when the carriage made another turn, she realized the triplets didn't follow them. Three men ambushed them at a desolate alley, and she tried keeping her composure while Lachesis was indignant.

“Please, princess—don’t,” one of the highwaymen tapped Lachesis' balled fists.

As softspoken as they were, two highwaymen who guarded them were clearly armed. The situation grew more concerning since the carriage steered deeper into the harbor, and Lachesis began exchanging glances with her. Something sparked in her when they touched a particular box, and she kept her head held high, clutching on it as a highwayman pointed a blade at her.

Summoning the courage she thought she never had, suddenly she lunged forward, slinging her arms, circling the driver’s neck trying to choke him. That threw the carriage off balance, and Lachesis sized a chance, fiercely hammering her fists against the highwaymen’s groins while one of them…

She felt thrown against the seat. There was a powerful blow she was never prepared for—never. Gasping a little she felt her face, feeling hot liquid ooze from the corner of her lips. They tried to take her things, and despite her death grip on one particular box, they managed to overpower her.

Her forehead bumped against the door—everything around her spun while Lachesis’ yelling for her name sounded so distant. She didn’t recall how she managed to wrestle a dagger from one highwayman Lachesis didn’t knock out, but she passed it to the princess, who fought back like a raging thunder. The panicked driver made beelines while Lachesis crawled to punch him.

She cupped her mouth. There was nausea—sudden overwhelming nausea she never experienced before, sending her collapsed against the floor. Lachesis cussed at the driver, kicking him so hard to throw him out, fighting to control neighing horses while said driver tried pulling her down …. From under, she caught two horses rivaling the carriage. Lachesis screamed when horses neighed loudly, but…

“Princess! By Hezul—Princess!!”

Lachesis gasped. Alva caught her in time, taking her onto his own horse. Eve kicked the driver into the street while Eva grabbed the rein, taming the horses. Another figure leaped onto the carriage and she desperately reached for a dagger when a sword slash tore the door open…

“I got you—fencing cape,” she muttered weakly, pointing at the box she defended before an ugly cough nearly pumped her lunch out.

“… Darling,” he whispered, clutching her waist so tightly as Mystletainn carved itself against the offenders.


	23. Much

_23 – Thousand_

 

He made another round circling the room. How many steps had he accumulated so far… thousand? Who knew. The moment he found the doomed carriage, she was bleeding profusely and her pale complexion only made the ugly bruise on her forehead clearer. Alva dropped on the knees when one of the patrolling guards quickly raced back to the palace informing him that the carriage had been hijacked. Sure, he knew the triplets lost their mistresses, but he wasn’t keen on knowing _how_ ; he was deathly worried—Lachesis wasn’t armed, and knowing her spirit, he feared for the worst.

Then there was her. He expected her to submit—after all she wasn’t stupid, well-aware of what she could and couldn’t do. Yet he truly didn’t expect she started their little resistance, arming Lachesis. The cape she mentioned was now proudly hung in his room as Lachesis sobbed into his chest.

He startled when another violent cough could be heard from inside the room. Against all advice, he tore himself from Lachesis, impatiently opening the door.

The Lady’s bedroom was crowded by healers. She lay on the bed, looking so pale and tired that his heart nearly stopped beating upon noticing how miserable she appeared to be. Cold sweats ran down her forehead while nurses cleaned her, and he could only stare when one of them removed a bowl.

“Grahnye…?”

She tensed, turning away from him. “I’m—dirty. I threw up a lot.”

He wanted to argue, but a nurse ushered him out. It was distressing, to hear her having a run every few hours, to find her so pale and weak each time he crossed the connecting door to check on her. He told her that he didn’t care—after all what she did was valiant, and if not because of her courage, the knights might not save them in time because the hijacked carriage already reached the harbor. Every time he reasoned, however, she shut him off, telling how he shouldn’t see her at her worst—repulsive and sick. It wasn’t just that she looked so ill—she appeared so sad too that he wished he could do anything, anything at all, if not merely to thank her for trying to save Lachesis. She had never thrown up this way before, making everything even more alarming. True that she ran out of breath easily. True that she could faint when the sunlight was too strong or when she was too exhausted. But being so sad, throwing up, rejecting anything they tried feeding her while her life force seemed to wane—that was unheard of.

When a maid carried a barely touched plate from her room, he griped her shoulders, burning his will into her. “Make Leonsterian foods and delicacies. Hundred, thousand—I don’t care. Make her eat.”

The following day Eldigan nearly snapped the chamberlain’s neck when the latter even dared questioning whether her condition was dire since she refused his visits. Suggesting the chamberlain to forego food considering constantly having Leonsterian cuisine tormented him so much, Eldigan took his weary soul to the training ground, swinging Mystletainn until his biceps felt burning.

“Pull yourself together. A thousand swings won’t help anyone,” Lachesis chastised him. “Let’s see her.”

Suddenly he wasn’t sure if it made him feel better. It felt like thousand nights had passed since she holed herself in the room, suffering and miserable with healers making rounds to look after her while he became a spectator in silence.

She was so peacefully sleeping that his throat felt dry. Reaching for her fingers he whispered a thousand prayers, telling her that he couldn’t care less if she was dirty or sweaty…

He swallowed back the sadness when a soft touch startled him. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear her voice again, more so when she smiled, telling him she was pregnant with his heir.


	24. Voyage

_24 – Outside_

 

“Step by step, dear,” he took her wrists in his hand, gently, very gently, guided her to trace the floor. She followed his lead, moving by his command and stopping when he signaled.

After days of violent throw-ups and being repulsed by food, things calmed down that it felt great to be able to leave the bed. At first it was awkward, having him in the Lady’s room instead of her being in the master bedroom as always; even more so when he cleaned and dressed her when she had her runs. According to the healers, she was already two months pregnant when the carriage incident happened. It was also rare, seeing him blush instead of the straight face he usually wore; which fueled _her_ blushing when he awkwardly chuckled saying he might have been a little _too enthusiastic_.

She sighed when he paused, opening the windows to let fresh air in. “At least there’s an explanation. So that’s why these past few weeks I’ve been feeling so drained and emotional.”

“I should be here more often,” he replied apologetically. The sparks between her and his courtiers reached him, but what he truly didn’t anticipate was how dire and troubling it actually was. He thought it was just his court getting curious of their new mistress, considering their courtship wasn’t grand and their engagement solemn. He trusted Lachesis to help her around the court, and while he was aware of her feebleness, he never suspected anything than her adapting southern Agustria’s warmer climate.

“Good that you weren’t—if you give me a twin I’ll be twice as sick,” she chuckled.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he scooped her into his arms. “I shall assume responsibility.”

“Trimester is the worst. I’ll recover after this… it’s a Hezul baby, after all—for better or _best,_ they will inherit your strength.”

He smiled back. “It’s not because I’m impatient waiting you walk.”

“But what if I…”

“Throw up?”

“… Yes?”

“We’ll just need to clean you again, no?” he steered his paces leaving the room. This time the corridors felt different—warm just like the day, spacious and not suffocating or lonely compared to the days prior. Maids dropped into curtsy, asking how she fared because of how sick she was for the whole week. Everyone breathed relief when she demanded some cheesecake—still fresh in their mind how every plate went nearly untouched that their lord wasn’t himself.

“Here comes the craving,” she sighed again. “But really, Eldie. If I…”

“Throw up on me?” he quirked an eyebrow when she gave a small nod. “I can change.”

He took her to the flower garden, putting that Hezul strength into work and enthusiastically showed her what she missed—blooming flowers, another rose variant Lachesis procured thanks to their Verdane trade, the all-female school he personally sponsored and planned to name after her. To their delighted surprise, the gate of their courtyard was crowded with flowers and cards—well-wishers hoped for her recovery and thanking her endeavor to empower girls.

However the joy was cut short because other voices could be heard commenting how unlikely it was to see the lord carrying his consort like that—or how she made a mount out of him. Her red face silently pleaded him to put her down, but he simply turned around, addressing his courtiers.

“Your Lordship is too concerned,” one of them begrudgingly spoke.

“Even if it concerns my heir?”

Courtiers quickly dropped to their knees. Trumpet sounds tore the palace as a congratulatory gesture, attracting the crowd outside the fenced gates. “I thought you aren’t a fan of grandeur?”

“No,” he whispered back. “But it’s good to be outside, isn’t it?”


	25. Husband; Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the staggering update, I'm updating _Allegedly_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> And yes, this makes reference to my other story, _Nice to Meet You_ where Eldigan meets Grahnye for the first time.

_25 – Winter_

 

Fire slowly consumed the wood blocks it engulfed, causing cracking sounds. The voice was pretty loud to be heard across the room, especially now that he was at the sofa with a book in hand. Outside, snow balls slowly came down into the earth, prompting him to tighten his scarf, withstanding cold. He had put a lantern on a stool near the sofa; the light shone onto the book, just enough to help him reading.

It had been a colder, darker day—the night had not yet fallen, yet winter had that effect of making the skies grayer than usual. He had eaten lunch earlier in silence as well, and this time he had learnt to control himself as a regiment of nurses and healers tore into the room, bringing in someone in a divan.

She was there—unmoving, with her eyes closed.

Many of things reminded him of their first encounter back in Leonster—the sky was gray, there was a snow hail which hindered his vision. He recalled pulling the joyous Sigurd of Chalphy out of snow when the latter fell face-first into a puddle. Then by some interesting play of Fate, both decided to help an heiress who, armed only by a wooden brush, tried to catch cattle thieves.

He parted his lips a bit. The heiress had been frail but stouthearted; trying to strike him, mistaking him as her target. There was awkwardness the moment she came to after he pulled her off the snow the way he did Sigurd; only that she wasn’t merry or strong like Sigurd.

The nurses informed him she had tried to herd horses into the royal stable shortly before the snow hailed. _Some things just don’t change,_ he thought, again curving his lips, imagining her eager-yet-small steps braving the weather before they found her. Except this time he wasn’t there to carry her unlike that one fateful Leonsterian winter night. The visible bump of her belly set everyone alert at an instant.

But he endured—or at least he learned to. He tried keeping a composed demeanor, retaining his flat expression when he was told he better waited while the healers worked. She said it herself—Hezul baby; the seed in her womb was carrying his blood and the gift bestowed by his crusader ancestor—the strength. The baby would live. She would make sure it did; the way she ensured the thieves didn’t get away with her cattle. True that they tackled her. True that he fought anyway. But this one—this one, she was determined to bring another Hezul’s descendant into the world even if…

He stopped reading. He could fight. But not for this one.

He tried easing his mind, thinking of the names his predecessors had, perhaps he could use one or two to honor them in his future child? Where would the mark appear? At what age…

He failed again—the way he unhesitatingly unsheathed Mystletainn after they tackled her.

So he leapt off his sofa, barging in, to the surprised look of everyone else attending to her. One simple reason sent people out after relaying the treatments they put on her— _I’m the husband._

Clutching her cold hand he whispered another thousand prayers like prior; noticing how pale she was in the broken-white dress she last wore, his hand gently rubbing on her belly as Mystletainn was leaned against the bed post— _Your future master, Mystletainn; protect them._

 _I shall._ _After all, milord—no, pardon me..._

He brought his face closer, parting her lips, he breathed into her— _Save her, Great Hezul—_

Soft coughing jolted him. With a weak heave she opened her eyes, asking the same question she did on that one Leonsterian winter night—“Where am I?”

“Welcome back,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to her again, redoing what he did—only this time it was his lips against hers; gently, softly, tenderly—he was her husband, after all.


	26. Shining

_26 – Diamond_

 

She listened to them talking. During one of those occasions where she would mingle with the townsfolk after concluding her purchases at the market, she caught up with the news—ladies of her peerage talking about the noblemen courting their hands in marriage, or sometimes really mundane things and market situation which she paid close attention to—after all, finance was her forte.

Some things just didn’t change—the same group who chirped at her when they were all curly scrawny kids in twin tails or unkempt hair grew into a group of peers whose topics changed into… the world. It took her some time to realize that none of them truly paid attention to what she had to say while none escaped her observation—the woe of being lower nobility class, trapped in the middle where one’s name was too full to be regarded as a commoner yet too empty to be a royal highness. Mediocrity was a prison, and her peers understood; climbing up was preferred more than they were willing to go down.

After a spring, she found her peers suddenly being interested in what she had to say, in her thoughts, opinions. Or rather, the Lionheart of Nordion—through her.

They asked her what he was like in person. As the questions got deeper, she found herself staring blankly at them, with her lips sealed shut before she conceded with a simple answer—“I don’t know.”

They looked at her in disbelief.

She clarified that she never asked. Attributes pertaining the Lionheart themselves were never a problem to her—of course she would admit that he looked sharp and dashing in his military regalia, and his white horse gave a strong majestic impression of a fairytale shining-armored knight as he rode to her manor from Leonster palace with refractions of sunlight framing his brilliant golden mane. But that was all.

When she began touring Leonster to donate her old things before her big move to Nordion, her peers approached her again, noticing that there was nothing grand on her since they expected to find any; a trace befitting the Lionheart’s betrothed. Her peers had told her about subsequent rings and tiaras they received from their counterparts, and like a working grudge the arrow left its bow. “Are you really his lover?”

She tried explaining that he was busy. He just ascended the throne, and duties awaited him as soon as his coronation was concluded. He discussed strategic issue with King Imka, visited foreign courts and patronized temples. Yet she believed in his words, knowing well that he never betrayed his oath once it was spoken; the way he stuck with Lord Sigurd through the snowy lands, the way Nordion sent aid to cold Leonster when a landslide halted transport carts. One particular serene night he pinned his regal brooch on her dress, demurely asking if she would be willing to take the position of a Lioness…

“He wants to wife you and there isn’t even a single ring? It’s Grahnye and her lonely fantasy again.”

She retired to the Lady’s room. He was already there, dressing down under the blanket; Mystletainn leaning against the wall. Dressing down, she paused while returning her trinkets and ornaments into their respective boxes. Ripples of the past were still in her mind, and her soft chuckles alerted him. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” she gestured at the boxes. Diamonds, rubies—everything he commissioned for her. “Previously you said you haven’t given me anything, and now...” What would her peers say if they saw these? She didn’t even care now, understanding that he proposed not only with his being, but his kingdom, country, and heritage in one brooch he symbolically put on her. The way she agreed to share herself in entirety with him—tears, laughter… her skin—

“Oh,” he responded lightly. Subtle leonine mischief sparked under those sharp narrow eyes—smirking, he dropped his tone, pulling her closer. “… Want more?”


	27. Litany

_27 – Letters_

 

Grann 753—April

Your Majesty,  
_Thank you for your hospitality; I greatly enjoyed my time in Nordion. Your apple trees were amazing! If by chance you would grace our Leonster again, please drop by our modest manor so I can thank you._  
—Grahnye of Leonster.

Grann 753—May

Milady,  
_My pleasure. I remember your dazzling smile at our garden party; pray tell—did you fancy my roses? I have a sister who loves roses more than any person I’ve encountered so far. My court indeed will come to Leonster this summer. Will you guide me through the blooms of the fertile Leonster?_  
—Eldigan of Nordion, R.

Grann 753—July

Your Majesty,  
_I sincerely hope you enjoyed your time in Leonster. I notice your lively eyes and shining golden mane under the sun, may contentment is the reason and not due to my neglectful being considering I fainted in your arms…_  
—Grahnye of Leonster.

Grann 753—August

Milady,  
_Worry not. What is chivalry, if not to shield the needing ones? I was thinking how your hair color reminded me of the caramel desserts from my childhood. Do tell, what are your favorites?_  
—Eldigan of Nordion, R.

Grann 753—October

Your Majesty,  
_As the leaves begin changing color, sunlight is more tempered that I enjoy my walk more than ever. I’m writing this during the Golden Hour; please pardon my insolence but the hue resembles your golden strands. Thank you for the snack box you sent from Nordion—delicious as they were, your attention of me made them unforgettable… why do I find your visage everywhere I look lately, Sire…?_  
—Grahnye of Leonster.

Grann 753—November

Milady,  
_I’d like to discuss something in person with you when I return to Leonster in the winter. My sister is eager to meet you as much as she inquires of Prince Quan’s Sir Finn. May I take you on a sleigh ride?_  
—Eldigan of Nordion, R.

Grann 754—February

Dearest Eldie,  
_In these cold nights I hold on to the powerful sense of your touch like you held me that sleigh night._  
—Your Grahnye.

Grann 754—March

My Grahnye,  
_The snow is melting everywhere and I remember the red ribbon in your hair; the redness of your lips._  
—The Eldie.

Grann 754—April

Dearest Eldie,  
_I’m eager for our new life in Nordion… I miss your apple trees and roses, but above all, I miss you._  
—Your Grahnye.

Grann 754—June

Darling Mama,  
_His Lordship has been nothing but kind to me, but your being a woman surely understands my whim... how do you assure yourself that Papa loves you dearly? I feel bad for begrudging his household while adoring him at the same time—this looming feeling inside me never settles; Mama, I’m uneasy._  
—Yours, Grahnye.

Grann 754—June

Treasured Quan,  
_I need your wisdom. Not that I distrust our Sigurd, but even Great Hezul’s blood never prepared me for this—she’s so delicate that I’d hate to feel like I’m breaking her when she’s under me. Laugh, you die._  
—Eldie.

Grann 754—June

Precious Eldie,  
_Ahahahahaaaa!! Congratulations for the daring move, my friend! Ethlyn and I will be there for the ball you are throwing for Lachesis. Best regards for her!_  
—Sigurd.

Grann 754—June

Beloved Sigurd,  
_PERISH, KNAVE._  
—Eldie.

Grann 754—September

Darling Mama,  
_It’s not easy to be someone worthy of Nordion consort throne… little by little I find my calling, but will I lose myself this way, Mama? Do I have to be a lioness? Can’t I be Grahnye?_  
—Yours, Grahnye.

Grann 755—February

My Lord and Lady,  
_I sincerely thank you for entrusting Grahnye to me. Nothing will please me more than receiving you in my humble home to welcome our offspring’s arrival around the spring. I promise to be a better man._  
—Your Son, Eldigan.

Grann 755—January

Darling Mama,  
_I love Eldie…_  
—Yours, Grahnye.

Grann 754—

Exalted Friends!  
_I lost track of time. Her face just won’t leave my head. Is it what I think it is?_  
—Eldie.

Grann 754—

Precious Eldie,  
_Yes, you... sigh._  
—Quan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing in this format! In case anyone wondering, the letter R there is for to signify a sovereign's signature (derived from Rex / Regina) which I modeled after European monarchs. Since Sigurd took Verdane in 757, I assume Ares was born around year 755.


	28. Listen—

_28 – Promise_

 

He sat in bed.

The night was quiet, leaving only the sounds of rustling leaves with occasional interruption from cicadas. Soft footsteps could be heard from the outside as night guards were making their round while servants and maids were finishing to clean up for the day.

Her lady-in-waiting put two lanterns per her request before retiring for the night. Trying to concentrate on the book he was reading, the sounds of his own pocket watch ticking and seeing her loose hair swirling under the lantern were distracting.

She was seated on a chair, facing a small desk where servants set his drink. Nearby, there were a bottle of ink with a quill and parchments ready for him to use, with his personal sealing wax would always be there waiting to serve him. Tonight, however, there was another—hers.

“Would you come to bed to rest?” he called on her. It was a pleasant surprise, finding her waiting on him when he retired for the night. He checked on her as how they spent their nights in the recent months—especially now that her stomach had become so visibly well-rounded, contrasting her built.

“This is important,” she stood up uneasily, staggering to reach a lantern positioned at the other corner of the master bedroom.

“Let me,” he kicked his heels out of the blanket. The somber light illuminated the desk, giving him a better view of everything on it. His eyebrows dove, catching the first line she had written on an unfolded parchment. He picked it up, frowning even deeper now that he had reread everything word-per-word.

“Don’t…” she tried to take it back, but too late now that the parchment rested in his steady grip. His tall posture easily blocked her.

“Why are you writing a will?”

His tone was sharp and condemning—and being his wife, she knew such tone commanded an answer. Slowly she sat down, knowing the parchment might as well considered lost because he wouldn't give it back—at least without a satisfying answer. “… Because it’s necessary.”

“Nonsense!”

He never spoke this harshly to her before, and yet he did; the parchment crumpled in his balled fist. Shaking her head, she turned away, drawing another parchment, dipping the quill into the ink once again to begin writing. “If I die, please continue supporting the trust fund I started,” her quill danced on the parchment. “It’s not much but as my husband you’re entitled to half of my fortune in Leonster… “

Her voice died at an instant, replaced with a gasp. Eldigan caught her wrist before she could dip the quill once again. “As your husband, I deserve an answer.”

“Let go of me.”

“Try and fail.”

“Eldie!” she attempted to break free, but he held her still; his eyes ferociously tore into hers as he calmly tugged the parchment off the desk. She sighed, feeling his fingers unlatched themselves off her wrist while he waited with quirked eyebrow. “I’m aware I’m frail and sickly.”

“Tell me something I didn’t know.”

“I was just thinking…” she mumbled as he dropped to his knees, crouching before her to gently rest his head on her. The previously unyielding grip metamorphosed into a soft caring touch as his fingertips brushed over her while he arched down to tenderly kiss her bulging stomach. “… If I died giving birth, you should remarry.”

He paused.

“… The heir will need a mother the way Nordion needs a consort and you—a caring partner,” her voice squeaked a bit as her arms stretched, her fingers caressed his golden mane. “I’m not _eager_ to die, but—but we have to be rational, Eldie. You are the sovereign.”

“Then I forbid you to die,” he replied in a simple manner. “This is an order.”

“Eldie…”

He lifted her off the chair, locking her into his arms as his feet casually brought them back to the bed. “Hezul didn’t abandon his comrades,” his eyes dove into hers one more time. “As I wouldn’t my lioness.”


	29. Idyllic Scene

_29 – Simple_

 

His lips curved into a pleasant crescent mark as servants hoisted a grand frame. The previously-empty white wall in the common room was now decorated with an exquisite painting of him, in full military regalia while she stood solemnly beside him as his elegant and dignified consort. Supervising another servant placing another painting over the fireplace, he could hear exchanged chatters and compliments between her and his sister now that the painting of Lachesis in court gown was also up on the wall.

“Magnificent,” he handed an envelope to the painter, who noticed the lion-shaped wax marking the Nordion sovereign’s personal signature. “Please see my secretary for the payment.”

“I thank Your Lordship very much,” the painter bowed before exiting.

He raced back to the sofa where the treasured ladies in his life were comfortably waiting on him—Lachesis had draped a blanket over the Lioness, who smiled wryly in jest. “Considering the predicament, I’m relieved I didn’t look terrible,” she pointed at another painting reigning on the fireplace then. “But you, dear Lachesis—mesmerizing in that gown…”

“Stop tiring your sister,” he ruffled Lachesis’ hair, settling down between them.

“You _did_ first, Lord Brother,” not wanting to lose, Lachesis’ sharp wit quickly found its way. The princess cackled over the Lionheart’s reddened face and awkward cough. “Really, you’re going to be a father and a little teasing set your face ablaze?”

Thankfully Lachesis leaped from the chair when Alva knocked, informing her that the horse was ready and he already prepared the training swords as always. Lachesis managed to land the last strike after winking at the Lioness, suggesting that they should chat again because it should be _less exhausting_ compared to keeping the Lionheart _satisfied._

“By Hezul—out,” Eldigan sighed, making a playful kicking motion as Lachesis punched his nose in return before truly withdrawing. Returning to the sofa, his consort hummed; her hands nimbly moved the pins—one after another, knitting the yarn ball resting on her lap.

“Coat for the baby,” she chuckled, showing him the piece she was working on. “What if it’s a girl?”

“What of it?” he responded, darting a glance around the room. It felt so serene compared to how it was during summer—warm and merry. Yet as he sat with her this one fine afternoon, contemplating the new paintings… crisp velvet curtains she cleaned, the newly-installed carpet by her order as well—he couldn’t help but letting out a small smile. Everything was so peaceful and simple as if they were just two people eagerly waiting on their firstborn instead of sovereigns of a territory.

“That won’t be an issue?” she peeked at him. If only she knew he silently commended her skill because she kept knitting even though her eyes traveled somewhere else.

“Mystletainn came through Hezul’s daughter who married a Nordion prince. Why would I complain?” he looked around again. The room was warm during colder time like this, and he wondered if he could take the baby sitting there with the windows open in summer, showcasing first sight of flowers, letting the hair-sweeping gentle breeze in.

“Many lords favor a son,” she murmured. “You have no preference?”

“I do…” his voice trailed, noticing a new vase bearing flowers which wasn’t there prior. “Your health.” He chuckled when she twirled the pin to poke his ribs. “Actually no, I don’t.”

She sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. Outside of the room he was the Lionheart, but here and now—no, he was just Eldie, the soon-to-be father who had brought an extra stool to rest her legs. Everything was so fulfilling despite the new paintings marking her debut as the Lioness…

“What’s wrong?” he tilted his head because she shifted.

“… The baby kicked,” she hummed again, guiding his hand over her stomach. “Here.”

“Strong baby,” he darted a kiss there.

“Were you marking it just now—like a lion?” giggling, she clutched on his hand resting on her.

“Judging from the power, I know it’s mine,” he smirked. “Say—have you thought of a name…?”


	30. Lion Cub

_30 – Future_

 

He insisted staying despite their warning. Nurses and maids came with everything needed—two bowls of water—one plain and another warm, layers of clean clothes, two spare bed gowns as well as three rags to clean her. He knelt beside the bed while Lachesis took the stool, whispering words of encouragement. Sky-tearing screams could be heard in between of sounds of her grunting to withstand the pain. He lost count how many times they dipped the rag into one of the bowls, cleaning her blood and other discharges flowing from between her legs.

He was a knight. He had partaken various campaigns—peaceful and not alike; ranging from his own trainings and tasks as a junior cadet at the military academy to actually subdue offenders. He had fought with and without a sword alike—breaking bones, tearing skins, hearing his opponents gasped and yelped in pain while his unit stood before spilled blood.

But even his harshest training never prepared him for this. She violently clutched on her gown; now damp and dirty out of sweat and blood. The labor had been excruciating—it had been hours with her screaming in agonizing pain.

“Milord, this might take long, I advise…”

“No,” he replied firmly. And like that, he chose to stay, seeing how there was a pool of blood under her as people kept telling her again and again— _Push! Breathe! Push…_

He held her hand, removing a thick rag she bit into, which she requested because she wanted to muffle her own screams now that he was there. “Scream, Grahnye,” he whispered, nibbling on her ear lobe. “No need to be modest—this battle is fierce. Cuss me if necessary.”

“A-aah, Hezul…!!”

She let out a nerve-wrecking yell, screaming his ancestor’s name. There was a vacuum while she gasped for breath, with blinding light coming out of healers’ staff shining on her. Like an explosion a loud cry colored the room, followed by sighs and gasps including that of Lachesis.

He couldn’t find his tongue when the newborn was handed to him—now cleaned and bundled in velvet and gold blanket, chosen to signify his royal birth. Right— _his._ She delivered a son, and he held still to the crying cub as the maid curtsied while the rest were busy cleaning the mother.

“Eldie…?”

He circled back to the bed, lowering the newborn-cub for her to see. Her tears spilled as he kissed every inch of her face, breathing sincere, sincere gratitude with her name in between. “He has your eyes,” his lips trembled, holding her shivering body. “Is that…”

“And your hair. He’s going to be so handsome—like you,” she gently stroke the cub, who calmed down a bit sensing his mother’s touch. “Oh, Eldie… p-perhaps? That one on his upper shoulder—your mark?”

“Truly is a Hezul baby, eh?” he looked down on the bundled cub again, emotion surged inside his chest when the glowing mark finally burned itself well into the cub. “Pushing you out nearly cost your mother her life—I’ll shape you into a peerless warrior who knows his gallantry growing up.”

The doors to the master bedroom were open, revealing his courtiers. He gently squeezed her hand once again, in turn receiving a simple nod as she shot an understanding look. The cub wailed demanding his mother, but he kept walking, approaching the waiting courtiers. “I present you my heir—Prince Ares of Nordion, Lord of Agustria!”

He hoisted the cub as people dropped to their knees, symbolically acknowledging him as their new master. Trumpets were blown as flowers were quickly brought into the room, and people cheered when townscreamer yelled— _Hear ye! Her Ladyship hath begotten an heir—the name's Prince Ares!_

He closed the window, returning to the bed where the Lioness rested with the cub. Joining them in bed, he wrapped his arm around her while another rested on the heir. “Loud and busy future ahead. So… nap?” chuckling, he enthralled her in a deep kiss.


End file.
